FORTUNE. Oh, yes. But Mrs. Cleeve 'appen to read in a newspapare zat
Sir George Brodrick vas in Florence for ze Paque--ze Eastare. Sir
Brodrick vas Mr. Cleeve's doctor in London, Mrs. Cleeve tell me, so'e
is acquainted wiz Mr. Cleeve's inside.

AMOS. Ho, ho!

GERTRUDE. Mr. Cleeve's constitution, Fortune.

FORTUNE. Excuse, madame. Zerefore Mrs. Cleeve she telegraph for Sir
Brodrick to come to Venise.

AMOS. To consult with Dr. Kirke, I suppose.

FORTUNE. [Listening.] 'Ere is ze doctares.

[DR. KIRKE enters, followed by SIR GEORGE BRODRICK. KIRKE is a shabby,
snuff-taking old gentleman--blunt but kind; SIR GEORGE, on the
contrary, is scrupulously neat in his dress, and has a suave,
professional manner. FORTUNE withdraws]

KIRKE. Good morning, Mr. Winterfield. [To GERTRUDE.] How do you do, my
dear? You're getting some colour into your pretty face, I'm glad to
see. [To SIR GEORGE.] Mr. Winterfield--Sir George Brodrick. [SIR
GEORGE and AMOS shake hands.]

KIRKE. [To SIR GEORGE.] Mrs. Thorpe. [SIR GEORGE shakes hands with
GERTRUDE.] Sir George and I started life together in London years ago;
now he finds me here in Venice. Well we can't all win the race--eh?