_By this time_ TREBELL _is in the room and has discovered the stranger, who stands to face him without emotion or anger_. BLACKBOROUGH'S _face wears the grimmest of smiles_, CANTELUPE _is sorry_, FARRANT _recovers from the fit of choking which seemed imminent and_ EDMUNDS, _dimly perceiving by now some fly in the perfect amber of his conduct, departs. The two men still face each other._ FARRANT _is prepared to separate them should they come to blows, and indeed is advancing in that anticipation when_ O'CONNELL _speaks_. O'CONNELL. I am Justin O'Connell. TREBELL. I guess that. O'CONNELL. There's a dead woman between us, Mr. Trebell. _A tremor sweeps over_ TREBELL; _then he speaks simply_. TREBELL. I wish she had not died. O'CONNELL. I am called upon by your friends to save you from the consequences of her death. What have you to say about that? TREBELL. I have been wondering what sort of expression the last of your care for her would find . . but not much. My wonder is at the power over me that has been given to something I despised. _Only_ O'CONNELL _grasps his meaning. But he, stirred for the first time and to his very depths, drives it home._ O'CONNELL. Yes . . If I wanted revenge I have it. She was a worthless woman. First my life and now yours! Dead because she was afraid to bear your child, isn't she? TREBELL. [_In agony._] I'd have helped that if I could. O'CONNELL. Not the shame . . not the wrong she had done me . . but just fear--fear of the burden of her woman-hood. And because of her my children are bastards and cannot inherit my name. And I must live in sin against my church, as--God help me--I can't against my nature. What are men to do when this is how women use the freedom we have given them? Is the curse of barrenness to be nothing to a man? And that's the death in life to which you gentlemen with your fine civilisation are bringing us. I think we are brothers in misfortune, Mr. Trebell. TREBELL. [_Far from responding._] Not at all, sir. If you wanted children you did the next best thing when she left you. My own problem is neither so simple nor is it yet anyone's business but my own. I apologise for alluding to it. HORSHAM _takes advantage of the silence that follows_. HORSHAM. Shall we . . O'CONNELL. [_Measuring_ TREBELL _with his eyes_.] And by which shall I help you to a solution . . telling lies or the truth to-morrow? TREBELL. [_Roughly, almost insolently._] If you want my advice . . I should do the thing that comes more easily to you, or that will content you most. If you haven't yet made up your mind as to the relative importance of my work and your conscience, it's too late to begin now. Nothing you may do can affect =me=. HORSHAM. [_Fluttering fearfully into this strange dispute._] O'Connell . . if you and I were to join Wedgecroft . . O'CONNELL. You value your work more than anything else in the world? TREBELL. Have I anything else in the world?