AMOS. You are using very honourable means, Sir Sandford.
SIR SANDFORD. I shall protest against any perversion of words, Mr.
Winterfield—
[The door of the further room opens, and GERTRUDE comes in, then AGNES. The latter is in a rusty, ill-fitting, black, stuff, dress; her hair is tightly drawn from her brows; her face is haggard, her eyes are red and sunken. A strip of linen binds her right hand.]
ST. OLPHERTS. [Speaking into SYBIL'S ear.] The lean witch again! The witch of the Iron Hall at St. Luke's.
SYBIL. [In a whisper.] Is that the woman?
ST. OLPHERTS. You see only one of 'em—there are two there.
[SANDFORD rises as AGNES comes slowly forward accompanied by GERTRUDE.
AMOS joins GERTRUDE; and they go together into the adjoining room,
GERTRUDE giving AGNES an appealing look.]
SIR SANDFORD. [To AGNES.] I—I am Mr. Lucas Cleeve's brother—[with a motion of the hand towards SYBIL]—this is—this is—
[He swallows the rest of the announcement and retires to the back of the room, where he stands before the stove. ST. OLPHERTS strolls away and disappears.]
SYBIL. [To AGNES, in a hard, dry, disdainful voice.] I beg that you will sit down. [AGNES sits mechanically, with an expressionless face.] I—I don't need to be told that this is a very—a very unwomanly proceeding on my part.