GERTRUDE. Isn't that splendid! [Waving her hand and calling.] Buon
giorno, Signor Cleeve! Come molto meglio voi state! [Leaving the
balcony, laughing.] Ha, ha! My Italian! [AGNES waves finally to the
gondola below, returns to the room, and slips her arm through
GERTRUDE'S.]

AGNES. Two whole days since I've seen you.

GERTRUDE. They've been two of my bad days, dear.

AGNES. [Looking into her face.] All right now?

GERTRUDE. Oh, "God's in his heaven" this morning! When the sun's out I
feel that my little boy's bed in Ketherick Cemetery is warm and cosy.

AGNES. [Patting GERTRUDE'S hand] Ah!--

GERTRUDE. The weather's the same all over Europe, according to the
papers. Do you think it's really going to last? To me these chilly,
showery nights are terrible. You know, I still tuck my child up at
night-time; still have my last peep at him before going to my own bed;
and it is awful to listen to these cold rains--drip, drip, upon that
little green coverlet of his! [She goes and stands by the window
silently.]

AGNES. This isn't strong of you, dear Mrs. Thorpe. You mustn't--you
mustn't. [AGNES brings the tray with the cut flowers to the nearer
table; calmly and methodically she resumes trimming the stalks.]