FRANCES. Julia, Julia ... isn't it unbelievable? MRS. FARRANT. I'd give ... oh, what wouldn't I give to have it undone! FRANCES. I knew he meant to ... and yet I thought I had his promise. If he really meant to ... I couldn't have stopped it, could I? MRS. FARRANT. Walter sent to tell me and I sent round to.... FRANCES. Walter came soon after, I think. Julia, I was in my room ... it was nearly breakfast time ... when I heard the shot. Oh ... don't you think it was cruel of him? MRS. FARRANT. He had a right to. We must remember that. FRANCES. You say that easily of my brother ... you wouldn't say it of your husband. _They are apart by this_, JULIA FARRANT _goes to her gently._ MRS. FARRANT. Fanny ... will it leave you so very lonely? FRANCES. Yes ... lonelier than you can ever be. You have children. I'm just beginning to realise.... MRS. FARRANT. [_Leading her from the mere selfishness of sorrow._] There's loneliness of the spirit, too. FRANCES. Ah, but once you've tasted the common joys of life ... once you've proved all your rights as a man or a woman.... MRS. FARRANT. Then there are subtler things to miss. As well be alone like you, or dead like him, without them ... I sometimes think. FRANCES. [_Responsive, lifted from egoism, reading her friend's mind._] You demand much. MRS. FARRANT. I wish that he had demanded much of any woman. FRANCES. You know how this misery began? That poor little wretch ... she's lying dead too. They're both dead together now. Do you think they've met...? JULIA _grips both her hands and speaks very steadily to help her friend back to self control._ MRS. FARRANT. George told me as soon as he was told. I tried to make him understand my opinion, but he thought I was only shocked. FRANCES. I was sorry for her. Now I can't forgive her either. MRS. FARRANT. [_Angry, remorseful, rebellious._] When will men learn to know one woman from another? FRANCES. [_With answering bitterness._] When will all women care to be one thing rather than the other? _They are stopped by the sound of the opening of_ KENT'S _door._ WALTER _comes from his room, some papers from his table held listlessly in one hand. He is crying, undisguisedly, with a child's grief._ KENT. Oh ... am I in your way...? FRANCES. I didn't know you were still here, Walter. KENT. I've been going through the letters as usual. I don't know why, I'm sure. They won't have to be answered now ... will they? WEDGECROFT _comes back, grave and tense._ WEDGECROFT. Horsham has gone. He thought perhaps you'd be staying with Miss Trebell for a bit. MRS. FARRANT. Yes, I shall be. WEDGECROFT. I must go too ... it's nearly eleven. FRANCES. To the other inquest? _This stirs her two listeners to something of a shudder._ WEDGECROFT. Yes. MRS. FARRANT. [_In a low voice._] It will make no difference now ... I mean ... still nothing need come out? We needn't know why he ... why he did it.