AMOS. [To GERTRUDE.] Will she—?
GERTRUDE. Yes. [ST. OLPHERTS limps out of the room, bowing to GERTRUDE as he passes.] Oh, Amos!
AMOS. Are we to lose the poor soul after all, Gerty?
GERTRUDE. I—I can't think so. Oh! but I'm afraid.
[ST. OLPHERTS returns, and SIR SANDFORD CLEEVE enters with SYBIL
CLEEVE. SANDFORD is a long, lean, old-young man with a pinched face.
SYBIL is a stately, handsome young woman, beautifully gowned and
thickly veiled.]
ST. OLPHERTS. Mrs Thorpe—Mr Winterfield. [SYBIL and SANDFORD bow distantly to GERTRUDE and AMOS.]
AMOS. [To SANDFORD and SYBIL, indicating the settee.] Will you—?
[SYBIL sits on the settee; SANDFORD takes the chair beside her.]
Gertrude—[GERTRUDE goes out.]
SIR SANDFORD. [Pompously.] Mr Winterfield, I find myself engaged on a peculiarly distasteful task.
AMOS. I have no hope, Sir Sandford, that you will not have strength to discharge it.
SIR SANDFORD. We shall object to loftiness of attitude on your part, sir. You would do well to reflect that we are seeking to restore a young man to a useful and honourable career.