e longer.

AGNES. [Rising unsteadily.] Ah--! [She makes a movement to go, falters,
and irresolutely sits again.] My influence--mine!

SYBIL. [With a stamp of the foot.] You wouldn't underrate your power if
you had seen him, heard him, about an hour ago--[mockingly] after he
had discovered his bereavement.

AGNES. He will soon forget me.

SYBIL. Yes--if you don't forsake him.

AGNES. I am going to England, into Yorkshire; according to your
showing, that should draw him back.

SYBIL. Oh, I've no doubt that we shall hear of him--in Yorkshire!
You'll find him dangling about your skirts--in Yorkshire!

AGNES. And he will find that I am determined--strong.

SYBIL. Ultimately he will tire, of course. But when? And what assurance
have we that he returns to us when he has wearied of pursuing you?
Besides, don't I tell you that we must make sure of him now? It's of no
use his begging us, in a month's time, to patch up home and reputation.
It must be now--and you can end our suspense. Come, hideous as it
sounds, this is not much to ask.

AGNES. [Shrinking from her.] Oh--!

SYBIL. Oh, don't regard me as the wife! That's an unnecessary
sentiment, I pledge you my word. It's a little late in the day, too,
for such considerations. So, come, help us!

AGNES. I will not.

SYBIL. He has an old mother--

AGNES. Poor woman!

SYBIL. And remember, you took him away--!

AGNES. I!

SYBIL. Practically you did--with your tender nursing and sweet
compassion. Isn't it straining a point--to shirk bringing him back?

AGNES. [Rising.] I did not take him from you. You--you sent him to me.

SYBIL. Ho, yes! That tale has been dinned into your ears often enough,
I can quite believe. I sent him to you--my coldness, heartlessness,
selfishness sent him to you. The unsympathetic wife--eh? Yes, but you
didn't put yourself to the trouble of asking for my version of the
story before you mingled your woes with his. [AGNES faces her
suddenly.] You know him now. Have I been altogether to blame, do you
still think? Unsympathetic! Because I've so often had to tighten my
lips, and stare blankly over his shoulder, to stop myself crying out in
weariness of his vanity and pettiness? Cruel! Because, occasionally,
patience becomes exhausted at the mere contemplation of a man so
self-absorbed? Why, you married miserably, the Duke of St. Olpherts
tells us! Before you made yourself my husband's champion and protector,
why didn't you let your experience