TREBELL. You see, Fanny, as I said to Gilbert last night . . our lives are our own and yet not our own. We understand living for others and dying for others. The first is easy . . it's a way out of boredom. To make the second popular we had to invent a belief in personal resurrection. Do you think we shall ever understand dying in the sure and certain hope that it really doesn't matter . . that God is infinitely economical and wastes perhaps less of the power in us after our death than men do while we live? FRANCES. I want your promise, Henry. TREBELL. You know I never make promises . . it's taking oneself too seriously. Unless indeed one has the comic courage to break them too. I've upset you very much with my troubles. Don't you think you'd better go and finish dressing? [_She doesn't move._] My dear . . you don't propose to hold my right hand so safely for years to come. Even so, I still could jump out of a window. FRANCES. I'll trust you, Henry. _She looks into his eyes and he does not flinch. Then, with a final grip she leaves him. When she is at the door he speaks more gently than ever._ TREBELL. Your own life is sufficient unto itself, isn't it? FRANCES. Oh yes. I can be pleasant to talk to and give good advice through the years that remain. [_Instinctively she rectifies some little untidiness in the room._] What fools they are to think they can run that government without you! TREBELL. Horsham will do his best. [_Then, as for the second time she reaches the door._] Don't take away my razors, will you? I only use them for shaving. FRANCES. [_Almost blushing._] I half meant to . . I'm sorry. After all, Henry, just because they are forgetting in personal feelings what's best for the country . . it's your duty not to. You'll stand by and do what you can, won't you? TREBELL. [_His queer smile returning, in contrast to her seriousness._] Disestablishment. It's a very interesting problem. I must think it out. FRANCES. [_Really puzzled._] What do you mean? _He gets up with a quick movement of strange strength, and faces her. His smile changes into a graver gladness._ TREBELL. Something has happened . . in spite of me. My heart's clean again. I'm ready for fresh adventures. FRANCES. [_With a nod and answering gladness._] That's right. _So she leaves him, her mind at rest. For a minute he does not move. When his gaze narrows it falls on the heaps of letters. He carries them carefully into_ WALTER KENT'S _room and arranges them as carefully on his table. On his way out he stops for a moment; then with a sudden movement bangs the door._