GERTRUDE. I would come. I've given poor Amos the slip; he believes I am
buying beads for the Ketherick school-children.

AGNES. [Shaking her head.] Ah, Mrs. Thorpe!--

GERTRUDE. Of course, it's perfectly brutal to be underhanded. But we're
leaving for home tomorrow; I couldn't resist it.

AGNES. [Coldly.] Perhaps I'm very ungracious--

GERTRUDE. [Taking AGNES' hand.] The fact is, Mrs. Cleeve--oh, what do
you wish me to call you?

AGNES. [Withdrawing her hand.] Well--you're off tomorrow. Agnes will
do.

GETRUDE. Thank you. The fact is, it's been a bad week with me--
restless, fanciful. And I haven't been able to get you out of my head.

AGNES. I'm sorry.

GERTRUDE. Your story, your present life; you, yourself--such a
contradiction to what you profess! Well, it all has a sort of
fascination for me.

AGNES. My dear, you're simply not sleeping again. [Turning away.] You'd
better go back to the ammonia Kirke prescribed for you.

GERTRUDE. [Taking a card from her purse, with a little, light laugh.]