AMOS. Gertrude!
GERTRUDE. After the first few weeks—weeks, not months!—after the first few weeks of it, my husband treated me as cruelly—[turning to AGNES]—just as cruelly, I do believe, as your husband treated you. [AMOS makes a movement, showing astonishment.] Wait! Now then! There was another man—one I loved—one I couldn't help loving! I could have found release with him, perhaps happiness of a kind. I resisted, came through it. They're dead—the two are dead! And here I am, a virtuous, reputable woman; saved by the blessed mercy of Heaven! There, you are not surprised any longer, Amos! [Pointing to AGNES.] "My friend, Mrs Ebbsmith!" [Bursting into tears.] Oh! Oh, if my little boy had been spared to me, he should have grown up tender to women—tender to women! He should, he should—! [She sits upon the settee, weeping . . . There is a short silence.]
AMOS. Mrs. Ebbsmith, when I came here tonight I was angry with Gertrude —not altogether, I hope, for being in your company. But I was certainly angry with her for visiting you without my knowledge. I think I sometimes forget that she is eight-and-twenty, not eighteen. Well, now I offer to delay our journey home for a few days, if you hold out the faintest hope that her companionship is likely to aid you in any way.
[AGNES, standing motionless, makes no response. AMOS crosses to her, and as he passes GERTRUDE, he lets his hand drop over her shoulder; she clasps it, then rises and moves to a chair, where she sits, crying silently.]
AMOS. [By AGNES' side—in a low voice.] You heard what she said. Saved by the mercy of Heaven.
AGNES. Yes, but she can feel that.
AMOS. You felt so once.
AGNES. Once—?
AMOS. You have, in years gone by, asked for help on your knees.
AGNES. It never came.