KIRKE. What, doesn't he know?
GERTRUDE. I simply sent word, about an hour ago, that I shouldn't be back to dinner.
KIRKE. Very well.
GERTRUDE. Look here! I'll get you to tell him the truth.
KIRKE. The truth—oh?
GERTRUDE. I called here this afternoon, unknown to Amos, to bid her good-bye. Then I pottered about, rather miserably, spending money. Coming out of Naya's, the photographer's, I tumbled over Mr. Cleeve, who had been looking for you, and he begged me to come round here again after I had done my shopping.
KIRKE. I understand.
GERTRUDE. Doctor, have you ever seen Amos look dreadfully stern and knit about the brows—like a bishop who is put out?
KIRKE. No.
GERTRUDE. Then you will.