ith you. At this moment we--my sister and
I--are not perfectly sure of her. Her affection for this man may still
induce her to sacrifice herself utterly for him; she is still in danger
of falling to the lowest depth a woman can attain. Come, Duke, don't
help these people. And don't "stand by!" Help me and my sister. For
God's sake!

ST. OLPHERTS. My good Mr. Winterfield, believe me or not, I--I
positively like this woman.

AMOS. [Gladly.] Ah!

ST. OLPHERTS. She attracts me curiously. And if she wanted assistance--

AMOS. Doesn't she?

ST. OLPHERTS. Money--

AMOS. No, no.

ST. OLPHERTS. She should have it. But as for the rest--well--

AMOS. Well?

ST. OLPHERTS. Well sir, you must understand me. It is a failing of
mine; I can't approach women--I never could--in the missionary
spirit.

[GERTRUDE re-enters; the men turn to face her.]

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.

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