KENT. The reverend one . . is downstairs and wants to see you. WEDGECROFT. [_As he comes to them._] Hampstead Road Tabernacle . . Oh, the mammon of righteousness! TREBELL. Shut up! How long have I before Lord Charles--? KENT. Only ten minutes. MRS. O'CONNELL _goes to sit at the big table, and apparently idly takes a sheet of paper to scribble on_. TREBELL. [_Half thinking, half questioning._] He's a man I can say nothing to politely. WEDGECROFT. I'm off to Percival's now. Then I've another case and I'm due back at twelve. If there's anything helpful to say I'll look in again for two minutes . . not more. TREBELL. You're a good man. WEDGECROFT. [_As he goes._] Congratulations, Kent. KENT. [_Taking him to the stairs._] Thank you very much. AMY. [_Beckoning with her eyes._] What's this, Mr. Trebell? TREBELL. Eh? I beg your pardon. _He goes behind her and reads over her shoulder what she has written._ KENT _comes back_. KENT. Shall I bring him up here? TREBELL _looks up and for a moment stares at his secretary rather sharply, then speaks in a matter-of-fact voice_. TREBELL. See him yourself, downstairs. Talk to him for five minutes . . find out what he wants. Tell him it will be as well for the next week or two if he can say he hasn't seen me. KENT. Yes. _He goes._ TREBELL _follows him to the door which he shuts. Then he turns to face_ AMY, _who is tearing up the paper she wrote on_. TREBELL. What is it? AMY. [_Her steady voice breaking, her carefully calculated control giving way._] Oh Henry . . Henry! TREBELL. Are you in trouble? AMY. You'll hate me, but . . oh, it's brutal of you to have been away so long. TREBELL. Is it with your husband? AMY. Perhaps. Oh, come nearer to me . . do. TREBELL. [_Coming nearer without haste or excitement._] Well? [_Her eyes are closed._] My dear girl, I'm too busy for love-making now. If there are any facts to be faced, let me have them . . quite quickly. _She looks up at him for a moment; then speaks swiftly and sharply as one speaks of disaster._ AMY. There's a danger of my having a child . . your child . . some time in April. That's all. TREBELL. [_A sceptic who has seen a vision._] Oh . . it's impossible. AMY. [_Flashing at him, revengefully._] Why? TREBELL. [_Brought to his mundane self._] Well . . are you sure? AMY. [_In sudden agony._] D'you think I want it to be true? D'you think I--? You don't know what it is to have a thing happening in spite of you. TREBELL. [_His face set in thought._] Where have you been since we met? AMY. Not to Ireland . . I haven't seen Justin for a year. TREBELL. All the easier for you not to see him for another year. AMY. That wasn't what you meant. TREBELL. It wasn't . . but never mind. _They are silent for a moment . . miles apart. . Then she speaks dully._ AMY. We do hate each other . . don't we! TREBELL. Nonsense. Let's think of what matters.