GERTRUDE. Of course, I guess your marriage was an unfortunate one.

AGNES. It lasted eight years. For about twelve months he treated me
like a woman in a harem, for the rest of the time like a beast of
burden. Oh! When I think of it! [Wiping her brow with her
handkerchief.] Phew!

GERTRUDE. It changed you?

AGNES. Oh, yes, it changed me.

GERTRUDE. You spoke of yourself just now as a widow. He's dead?

AGNES. He died on our wedding day--the eighth anniversary.

GERTRUDE. You were free then--free to begin again.

AGNES. Eh? [Looking at GERTRUDE.] Yes; but you don't begin to believe
all over again. [She gathers up the stalks of the flowers from the
tray, and, kneeling, crams them into the stove.] However, this is an
old story. I'm thirty-three now.

GERTRUDE. [Hesitatingly.] You and Mr. Cleeve--?

AGNES. We've known each other since last November--no longer. Six
years of my life unaccounted for, eh? Well, for a couple of years or so
I was lecturing.

GERTRUDE. Lecturing?