FRANCES _never heeds this flash of a further meaning between the two men._ FRANCES. And I meant to have gone to see her to-day. Was the end very sudden? Did her husband arrive in time? WEDGECROFT. Yes. FRANCES. They didn't get on ... he'll be frightfully upset. TREBELL _resists a hideous temptation to laugh._ WEDGECROFT. Good night, Trebell. TREBELL. Good night, Gilbert. Many thanks. _There is enough of a caress in_ TREBELL'S _tone to turn_ FRANCES _towards their friend, a little remorseful for treating him so casually, now as always._ FRANCES. He's always thanking you. You're always doing things for him. WEDGECROFT. Good night. [_Seeing the tears in her eyes._] Oh, don't grieve. FRANCES. One shouldn't be sorry when people die, I know. But she liked me more than I liked her ... [_This time_ TREBELL _does laugh, silently._] ... so I somehow feel in her debt and unable to pay now. TREBELL. [_An edge on his voice._] Yes ... people keep on dying at all sorts of ages, in all sorts of ways. But we seem never to get used to it ... narrow-minded as we are. WEDGECROFT. Don't you talk nonsense. TREBELL. [_One note sharper yet._] One should occasionally test one's sanity by doing so. If we lived in the logical world we like to believe in, I could also prove that black was white. As it is ... there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging it. WEDGECROFT. Had I better give you a sleeping draught? FRANCES. Are you doctoring him for once? Henry, have you at last managed to overwork yourself? TREBELL. No ... I started the evening by a charming little dinner at the Van Meyer's ... sat next to Miss Grace Cutler, who is writing a _vie intime_ of Louis Quinze and engaged me with anecdotes of the same. FRANCES. A champion of her sex, whom I do not like. WEDGECROFT. She's writing such a book to prove that women are equal to anything. _He goes towards the door and_ FRANCES _goes with him._ TREBELL _never turns his head._ TREBELL. I shall not come and open the door for you ... but mind you shut it. FRANCES _comes back._ FRANCES. Henry ... this is dreadful about that poor little woman. TREBELL. An unwelcome baby was arriving. She got some quack to kill her. _These exact words are like a blow in the face to her, from which, being a woman of brave common sense, she does not shrink._ TREBELL. What do you say to that? _She walks away from him, thinking painfully._ FRANCES. She had never had a child. There's the common-place thing to say.... Ungrateful little fool! But.... TREBELL. If you had been in her place? FRANCES. [_Subtly._] I have never made the mistake of marrying. She grew frightened, I suppose. Not just physically frightened. How can a man understand? TREBELL. The fear of life ... do you think it was ... which is the beginning of all evil?