WEDGECROFT. That's where everything but living fails a man. [_Drifting into introspection himself._] Yes, it's true. I can talk cleverly and I've written a book ... but I'm barren. [_Then the healthy mind re-asserts itself._] No, it's not true. Our thoughts are children ... and marry and intermarry. And we're peopling the world ... not badly. TREBELL. Well ... either life is too little a thing to matter or it's so big that such specks of it as we may be are of no account. These are two points of view. And then one has to consider if death can't be sometimes the last use made of life. _There is a tone of menace in this which recalls_ WEDGECROFT _to the present trouble._ WEDGECROFT. I doubt the virtue of sacrifice ... or the use of it. TREBELL. How else could I tell Horsham that my work matters? Does he think so now?... not he. WEDGECROFT. You mean if they'd had to throw you over? _Once again_ TREBELL _looks up with that secretive smile._ TREBELL. Yes ... if they'd had to. WEDGECROFT. [_Unreasonably nervous, so he thinks._] My dear fellow, Horsham would have thought it was the shame and disgrace if you'd shot yourself after the inquest. That's the proper sentimental thing for you so-called strong men to do on like occasions. Why, if your name were to come out to-morrow, your best meaning friends would be sending you pistols by post, requesting you to use them like a gentleman. Horsham would grieve over ten dinner-tables in succession and then return to his philosophy. One really mustn't waste a life trying to shock polite politicians. There'd even be a suspicion of swagger in it. TREBELL. Quite so ... the bomb that's thrown at their feet must be something otherwise worthless. FRANCES _comes in quickly, evidently in search of her brother. Though she has not been crying, her eyes are wide with grief._ FRANCES. Oh, Henry ... I'm so glad you're still up. [_She notices_ WEDGECROFT.] How d'you do, Doctor? TREBELL. [_Doubling his mask of indifference._] Meistersinger's over early. FRANCES. Is it? TREBELL. Not much past twelve yet. FRANCES. [_The little gibe lost on her._] It was Tristan to-night. I'm quite upset. I heard just as I was coming away ... Amy O'Connell's dead. [_Both men hold their breath._ TREBELL _is the first to find control of his and give the cue._] TREBELL. Yes ... Wedgecroft has just told me. FRANCES. She was only taken ill last week ... it's so extraordinary. [_She remembers the doctor._] Oh ... have you been attending her? WEDGECROFT. Yes. FRANCES. I hear there's to be an inquest. WEDGECROFT. Yes. FRANCES. But what has been the matter? TREBELL. [_Sharply forestalling any answer._] You'll know to-morrow. FRANCES. [_The little snub almost bewildering her._] Anything private? I mean.... TREBELL. No ... I'll tell you. Don't make Gilbert repeat a story twice.... He's tired with a good day's work. WEDGECROFT. Yes ... I'll be getting away.