Chapter X: Part 10

HORSHAM. Well, Charles, I won't ask you for a decision now. I know how hard it is to accept the dictates of other men's consciences . . but a necessary condition of all political work; believe me.

CANTELUPE. [_Uneasily._] You can form your cabinet without me, Cyril.

_At this_ BLACKBOROUGH _charges down on them, so to speak_.

BLACKBOROUGH. No, I tell you, I'm damned if he can. Leaving the whole high church party to blackmail all they can out of us and vote how they like! Here . . I've got my Yorkshire people to think of. I can bargain for them with you in a cabinet . . not if you've the pull of being out of it.

HORSHAM. [_With charming insinuation._] And have you calculated, Blackborough, what may become of us if Trebell has the pull of being out of it?

BLACKBOROUGH _makes a face_.

BLACKBOROUGH. Yes . . I suppose he might turn nasty.

FARRANT. I should hope he would.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Tackling_ FARRANT _with great ease_.] I should hope he would consider the matter not from the personal, but from the political point of view . . as I am trying to do.

HORSHAM. [_Tasting his epigram with enjoyment._] Introspection is the only bar to such an honourable endeavour, [BLACKBOROUGH _gapes_.] You don't suffer from that as--for instance--Charles here, does.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Pugnaciously._] D'you mean I'm just pretending not to attack him personally?

HORSHAM. [_Safe on his own ground._] It's only a curious metaphysical point. Have you never noticed your distaste for the colour of a man's hair translate itself ultimately into an objection to his religious opinions . . or what not? I am sure--for instance--I could trace Charles's scruples about sitting in a cabinet with Trebell back to a sort of academic reverence for women generally which he possesses. I am sure I could . . if he were not probably now doing it himself. But this does not make the scruples less real, less religious, or less political. We must be humanly biased in expression . . or not express ourselves.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Whose thoughts have wandered._] The man's less of a danger than he was . . I mean he'll be alone. The Liberals won't have him back. He smashed his following there to come over to us.

FARRANT. [_Giving a further meaning to this._] Yes, Blackborough, he did.

BLACKBOROUGH. To gain his own ends! Oh, my dear Horsham, can't you see that if O'Connell had blabbed to-morrow it really would have been a blessing in disguise? I don't pretend to Cantelupe's standard . . but there must be something radically wrong with a man who could get himself into such a mess as that . . now mustn't there? Ah! . . you have a fatal partiality for clever people. I tell you . . though this might be patched up . . Trebell would fail us in some other way before we were six months older.

_This speech has its effect; but_ HORSHAM _looks at him a little sternly_.

HORSHAM. And am I to conclude that you don't want Charles to change his mind?

BLACKBOROUGH. [_On another tack._] Farrant has not yet allowed us to hear Percival's opinion.

FARRANT _looks rather alarmed_.

FARRANT. It has very little reference to the scandal.

BLACKBOROUGH. As that is at an end . . all the more reason we should hear it.

HORSHAM. [_Ranging himself with_ FARRANT.] I called this quite informal meeting, Blackborough, only to dispose of the scandal, if possible.

BLACKBOROUGH. Well, of course, if Farrant chooses to insult Percival so gratuitously by burking his message to us . .

_There is an unspoken threat in this._ HORSHAM _sees it and without disguising his irritation_. . .

HORSHAM. Let us have it, Farrant.

FARRANT. [_With a sort of puzzled discontent._] Well . . I never got to telling him of the O'Connell affair at all. He started talking to me . . saying that he couldn't for a moment agree to Trebell's proposals for the finance of his bill . . I couldn't get a word in edgeways. Then his wife came up. . .

HORSHAM _takes something in this so seriously that he actually interrupts_.

HORSHAM. Does he definitely disagree? What is his point?

FARRANT. He says Disestablishment's a bad enough speculation for the party as it is.

BLACKBOROUGH. It is inevitable.

FARRANT. He sees that. But then he says . . to go to the country again having bolstered up Education and quarrelled with everybody will be bad enough . . to go having spent fifty millions on it will dish us all for our lifetimes.

HORSHAM. What does he propose?

FARRANT. He'll offer to draft another bill and take it through himself. He says . . do as many good turns as we can with the money . . don't put it all on one horse.

BLACKBOROUGH. He's your man, Horsham. That's one difficulty settled.

HORSHAM'S _thoughts are evidently beyond_ BLACKBOROUGH, _beyond the absent_ PERCIVAL _even_.

HORSHAM. Oh . . any of us could carry that sort of a bill.

CANTELUPE _has heard this last passage with nothing less than horror and pale anger, which he contains no longer_.

CANTELUPE. I won't have this. I won't have this opportunity frittered away for party purposes.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Expostulating reasonably._] My dear Cantelupe . . you'll get whatever you think it right for the Church to have. You carry a solid thirty eight votes with you.

HORSHAM'S _smooth voice intervenes. He speaks with finesse._

HORSHAM. Percival, as an old campaigner, expresses himself very roughly. The point is, that we are after all only the trustees of the party. If we know that a certain step will decimate it . . clearly we have no right to take the step.

CANTELUPE. [_Glowing to white heat._] Is this a time to count the consequences to ourselves?

HORSHAM. [_Unkindly._] By your action this evening, Charles, you evidently think not. [_He salves the wound._] No matter, I agree with you . . the bill should be a comprehensive one, whoever brings it in.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Not without enjoyment of the situation._] Whoever brings it in will have to knuckle under to Percival over its finance.

FARRANT. Trebell won't do that. I warned Percival.

HORSHAM. Then what did he say?

FARRANT. He only swore.

HORSHAM _suddenly becomes peevish_.

HORSHAM. I think, Farrant, you should have given me this message before.

FARRANT. My dear Horsham, what had it to do with our request to O'Connell?

HORSHAM. [_Scolding the company generally._] Well then, I wish he hadn't sent it. I wish we were not discussing these points at all. The proper time for them is at a cabinet meeting. And when we have actually assumed the responsibilities of government . . then threats of resignation are not things to be played about with.

FARRANT. Did you expect Percival's objection to the finance of the scheme?

HORSHAM. Perhaps . . perhaps. I knew Trebell was to see him last Tuesday. I expect everybody's objections to any parts of every scheme to come at a time when I am in a proper position to reconcile them . . not now.

_Having vented his grievances he sits down to recover._ BLACKBOROUGH _takes advantage of the ensuing pause_.

BLACKBOROUGH. It isn't so easy for me to speak against Trebell, since he evidently dislikes me personally as much as I dislike him . . but I'm sure I'm doing my duty. Horsham . . here you have Cantelupe who won't stand in with the man, and Percival who won't stand in with his measure, while I would sooner stand in with neither. Isn't it better to face the situation now than take trouble to form the most makeshift of Cabinets, and if that doesn't go to pieces, be voted down in the House by your own party?

_There is an oppressive silence._ HORSHAM _is sulky. The matter is beyond_ FARRANT. CANTELUPE _whose agonies have expressed themselves in slight writhings, at last, with an effort, writhes himself to his feet_.

CANTELUPE. I think I am prepared to reconsider my decision.

FARRANT. That's all right then!

_He looks round wonderingly for the rest of the chorus to find that neither_ BLACKBOROUGH _nor_ HORSHAM _have stirred_.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Stealthily._] Is it, Horsham?

HORSHAM. [_Sotto voce._] Why did you ever make it?

BLACKBOROUGH _leaves him for_ CANTELUPE.

BLACKBOROUGH. You're afraid for the integrity of the bill.

CANTELUPE. It must be comprehensive . . that's vital.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Very forcefully._] I give you my word to support its integrity, if you'll keep with me in persuading Horsham that the inclusion of Trebell in his cabinet will be a blow to the whole Conservative Cause. Horsham, I implore you not to pursue this short-sighted policy. All parties have made up their minds to Disestablishment . . surely nothing should be easier than to frame a bill which will please all parties.

FARRANT. [_At last perceiving the drift of all this._] But good Lord, Blackborough . . now Cantelupe has come round and will stand in . . .

BLACKBOROUGH. That's no longer the point. And what's all this nonsense about going to the country again next year?

HORSHAM. [_Mildly._] After consulting me Percival said at Bristol. . .

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Quite unchecked._] I know. But if we pursue a thoroughly safe policy and the bye-elections go right . . there need be no vote of censure carried for three or four years. The Radicals want a rest with the country and they know it. And one has no right, what's more, to go wantonly plunging the country into the expenses of these constant general elections. It ruins trade.

FARRANT. [_Forlornly sticking to his point._] What has all this to do with Trebell?

HORSHAM. [_Thoughtfully._] Farrant, beyond what you've told us, Percival didn't recommend me to throw him over.

FARRANT. No, he didn't . . that is, he didn't exactly.

HORSHAM. Well . . he didn't?

FARRANT. I'm trying to be accurate! [_Obviously their nerves are now on edge._] He said we should find him tough to assimilate--as he warned you.

HORSHAM _with knit brows, loses himself in thought again_. BLACKBOROUGH _quietly turns his attention to_ FARRANT.

BLACKBOROUGH. Farrant, you don't seriously think that . . outside his undoubted capabilities . . Trebell is an acquisition to the party?

FARRANT. [_Unwillingly._] Perhaps not. But if you're going to chuck a man . . don't chuck him when he's down.

BLACKBOROUGH. He's no longer down. We've got him O'Connell's promise and jolly grateful he ought to be. I think the least we can do is to keep our minds clear between Trebell's advantage and the party's.

CANTELUPE. [_From the distant music-stool._] And the party's and the Country's.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Countering quite deftly._] Cantelupe, either we think it best for the country to have our party in power or we don't.

FARRANT. [_In judicious temper._] Certainly, I don't feel our responsibility towards him is what it was ten minutes ago. The man has other careers besides his political one.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Ready to praise._] Clever as paint at the Bar--best Company lawyer we've got.

CANTELUPE. It is not what he loses, I think . . but what we lose in losing him.

_He says this so earnestly that_ HORSHAM _pays attention_.

HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us be practical. If his position with us is to be made impossible it is better that he shouldn't assume it.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Soft and friendly._] How far are you actually pledged to him?

HORSHAM _looks up with the most ingenuous of smiles_.

HORSHAM. That's always such a difficult sort of point to determine, isn't it? He thinks he is to join us. But I've not yet been commanded to form a cabinet. If neither you--nor Percival--nor perhaps others will work with him . . what am I to do? [_He appeals to them generally to justify this attitude._]

BLACKBOROUGH. He no longer thinks he's to join us . . it's the question he left us to decide.

_He leaves_ HORSHAM, _whose perplexity is diminishing_. FARRANT _makes an effort_.

FARRANT. But the scandal won't weaken his position with us now. There won't be any scandal . . there won't, Blackborough.

HORSHAM. There may be. Though, I take it we're all guiltless of having mentioned the matter.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_Very detached._] I've only known of it since I came into this house . . but I shall not mention it.

FARRANT. Oh, I'm afraid my wife knows. [_He adds hastily._] My fault . . my fault entirely.

BLACKBOROUGH. I tell you Rumour's electric.

HORSHAM _has turned to_ FARRANT _with a sweet smile and with the air of a man about to be relieved of all responsibility_.

HORSHAM. What does she say?

FARRANT. [_As one speaks of a nice woman._] She was horrified.

HORSHAM. Of course. [_Once more he finds refuge and comfort on the hearthrug, to say, after a moment, with fine resignation._] I suppose I must let him go.

CANTELUPE. [_On his feet again._] Cyril!

HORSHAM. Yes, Charles?

_With this query he turns an accusing eye on_ CANTELUPE, _who is silenced_.

BLACKBOROUGH. Have you made up your mind to that?

FARRANT. [_In great distress._] You're wrong, Horsham. [_Then in greater._] That is . . I =think= you're wrong.

HORSHAM. I'd sooner not let him know to-night.

BLACKBOROUGH. But he asked you to.

HORSHAM. [_All show of resistance gone._] Did he? Then I suppose I must. [_He sighs deeply._]

BLACKBOROUGH. Then I'll get back to Aylesbury.

_He picks up his motor-cap from the table and settles it on his head with immense aplomb._

HORSHAM. So late?

BLACKBOROUGH. Really one can get along quicker at night if one knows the road. You're in town, aren't you, Farrant? Shall I drop you at Grosvenor Square?

FARRANT. [_Ungraciously._] Thank you.

BLACKBOROUGH. [_With a conqueror's geniality._] I don't mind telling you now, Horsham, that ever since we met at Shapters I've been wondering how you'd escape from this association with Trebell. Thought he was being very clever when he crossed the House to us! It's needed a special providence. You'd never have got a cabinet together to include him.

HORSHAM. [_With much intention._] No.

FARRANT. [_Miserably._] Yes, I suppose that intrigue was a mistake from the beginning.

BLACKBOROUGH. Well, good-night. [_As he turns to go he finds_ CANTELUPE _upright, staring very sternly at him_.] Good-night, Cantelupe.

CANTELUPE. From what motives have we thrown Trebell over?

BLACKBOROUGH. Never mind the motives if the move is the right one. [_Then he nods at_ HORSHAM.] I shall be up again next week if you want me.

_And he flourishes out of the room; a man who has done a good hour's work._ FARRANT, _who has been mooning depressedly around, now backs towards the door_.

FARRANT. In one way, of course, Trebell won't care a damn. I mean, he knows as well as we do that office isn't worth having . . he has never been a place-hunter. On the other hand . . what with one thing and the other . . Blackborough is a sensible fellow. I suppose it can't be helped.

HORSHAM. Blackborough will tell you so. Good-night.

_So_ FARRANT _departs, leaving the two cousins together_. CANTELUPE _has not moved and now faces_ HORSHAM _just as accusingly_.

CANTELUPE. Cyril, this is tragic.

HORSHAM. [_More to himself than in answer._] Yes . . most annoying.

CANTELUPE. Lucifer, son of the morning! Why is it always the highest who fall?

HORSHAM _shies fastidiously at this touch of poetry_.

HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us above all things keep our mental balance. Trebell is a most capable fellow. I'd set my heart on having him with me . . he'll be most awkward to deal with in opposition. But we shall survive his loss and so would the country.

CANTELUPE. [_Desperately._] Cyril, promise me there shall be no compromise over this measure.

HORSHAM. [_Charmingly candid._] No . . no unnecessary compromise, I promise you.

CANTELUPE. [_With a sigh._] If we had done what we have done to-night in the right spirit! Blackborough was almost vindictive.

HORSHAM. [_Smiling without amusement._] Didn't you keep thinking . . I did . . of that affair of his with Mrs. Parkington . . years ago?

CANTELUPE. There was never any proof of it.

HORSHAM. No . . he bought off the husband.

CANTELUPE. [_Uneasily._] His objections to Trebell were--political.

HORSHAM. Yours weren't.

CANTELUPE. [_More uneasily still._] I withdrew mine.

HORSHAM. [_With elderly reproof._] I don't think, Charles, you have the least conception of what a nicely balanced machine a cabinet is.

CANTELUPE. [_Imploring comfort._] But should we have held together through Trebell's bill?

HORSHAM. [_A little impatient._] Perhaps not. But once I had them all round a table . . Trebell is very keen on office for all his independent airs . . he and Percival could have argued the thing out. However, it's too late now.

CANTELUPE. Is it?

_For a moment_ HORSHAM _is tempted to indulge in the luxury of changing his mind; but he puts Satan behind him with a shake of the head_.

HORSHAM. Well, you see . . Percival I can't do without. Now that Blackborough knows of his objections to the finance he'd go to him and take Chisholm and offer to back them up. I know he would . . he didn't take Farrant away with him for nothing. [_Then he flashes out rather shrilly._] It's Trebell's own fault. He ought not to have committed himself definitely to any scheme until he was safely in office. I warned him about Percival . . I warned him not to be explicit. One cannot work with men who will make up their minds prematurely. No, I shall not change my mind. I shall write to him.

_He goes firmly to his writing desk leaving_ CANTELUPE _forlorn_.

CANTELUPE. What about a messenger?

HORSHAM. Not at this time of night. I'll post it.

CANTELUPE. I'll post it as I go.

_He seeks comfort again in the piano and this time starts to play, with one finger and some hesitation, the first bars of a Bach fugue._ HORSHAM'S _pen-nib is disappointing him and the letter is not easy to phrase_.

HORSHAM. But I hate coming to immediate decisions. The administrative part of my brain always tires after half an hour. Does yours, Charles?

CANTELUPE. What do you think Trebell will do now?

HORSHAM. [_A little grimly._] Punish us all he can.

_On reaching the second voice in the fugue_ CANTELUPE'S _virtuosity breaks down_.

CANTELUPE. All that ability turned to destructiveness . . what a pity! That's the paradox of human activities . .

_Suddenly_ HORSHAM _looks up and his face is lighted with a seraphic smile_.

HORSHAM. Charles . . I wish we could do without Blackborough.

CANTELUPE. [_Struck with the idea._] Well . . why not?

HORSHAM. Yes . . I must think about it. [_They both get up, cheered considerably._] You won't forget this, will you?

CANTELUPE. [_The letter in_ HORSHAM'S _hand accusing him_.] No . . no. I don't think I have been the cause of your dropping Trebell, have I?

HORSHAM, _rid of the letter, is rid of responsibility and his charming equable self again. He comforts his cousin paternally._

HORSHAM. I don't think so. The split would have come when Blackborough checkmated my forming a cabinet. It would have pleased him to do that . . and he could have, over Trebell. But now that question's out of the way . . you won't get such a bad measure with Trebell in opposition. He'll frighten us into keeping it up to the mark, so to speak.

CANTELUPE. [_A little comforted._] But I shall miss one or two of those ideas . .

HORSHAM. [_So pleasantly sceptical._] Do you think they'd have outlasted the second reading? Dullness in the country one expects. Dullness in the House one can cope with. But do you know, I have never sat in a cabinet yet that didn't greet anything like a new idea in chilling silence.

CANTELUPE. Well, I should regret to have caused you trouble, Cyril.

HORSHAM. [_His hand on the other's shoulder._] Oh . . we don't take politics so much to heart as that, I hope.

CANTELUPE. [_With sweet gravity._] I take politics very much to heart. Yes, I know what you mean . . but that's the sort of remark that makes people call you cynical. [HORSHAM _smiles as if at a compliment and starts with_ CANTELUPE _towards the door_. CANTELUPE, _who would not hurt his feelings, changes the subject_.] By the bye, I'm glad we met this evening! Do you hear Aunt Mary wants to sell the Burford Holbein? Can she?

HORSHAM. [_Taking as keen, but no keener, an interest in this than in the difficulty he has just surmounted._] Yes, by the will she can, but she mustn't. Dear me, I thought I'd put a stop to that foolishness. Well now, we must take that matter up very seriously. . .

_They go out talking arm in arm._

THE FOURTH ACT

At TREBELL'S again; later, the same evening.

_His room is in darkness but for the flicker the fire makes and the streaks of moonlight between the curtains. The door is open, though, and you see the light of the lamp on the stairs. You hear his footstep too. On his way he stops to draw back the curtains of the passage-way window; the moonlight makes his face look very pale. Then he serves the curtains of his own window the same; flings it open, moreover, and stands looking out. Something below draws his attention. After leaning over the balcony with a short_ "Hullo" _he goes quickly downstairs again. In a minute_ WEDGECROFT _comes up_. TREBELL _follows, pausing by the door a moment to light up the room_. WEDGECROFT _is radiant_.

TREBELL. [_With a twist of his mouth._] Promised, has he?

WEDGECROFT. Suddenly broke out as we walked along, that he liked the look of you and that men must stand by one another nowadays against these women. Then he said good-night and walked away.

TREBELL. Back to Ireland and the thirteenth century.

WEDGECROFT. After to-morrow.

TREBELL. [_Taking all the meaning of to-morrow._] Yes. Are you in for perjury, too?

WEDGECROFT. [_His thankfulness checked a little._] No . . not exactly.

TREBELL _walks away from him_.

TREBELL. It's a pity the truth isn't to be told, I think. I suppose the verdict will be murder.

WEDGECROFT. They won't catch the man.

TREBELL. You don't mean . . me.

WEDGECROFT. No, no . . my dear fellow.

TREBELL. You might, you know. But nobody seems to see this thing as I see it. If I were on that jury I'd say murder too and accuse . . so many circumstances, Gilbert, that we should go home . . and look in the cupboards. What a lumber of opinions we inherit and keep!

WEDGECROFT. [_Humouring him._] Ought we to burn the house down?

TREBELL. Rules and regulations for the preservation of rubbish are the laws of England . . and I was adding to their number.

WEDGECROFT. And so you shall . . to the applause of a grateful country.

TREBELL. [_Studying his friend's kindly encouraging face._] Gilbert, it is not so much that you're an incorrigible optimist . . but why do you subdue your mind to flatter people into cheerfulness?

WEDGECROFT. I'm a doctor, my friend.

TREBELL. You're a part of our tendency to keep things alive by hook or by crook . . not a spark but must be carefully blown upon. The world's old and tired; it dreads extinction. I think I disapprove . . I think I've more faith.

WEDGECROFT. [_Scolding him._] Nonsense . . you've the instinct to preserve your life as everyone else has . . and I'm here to show you how.

TREBELL. [_Beyond the reach of his kindness._] I assure you that these two days while you've been fussing around O'Connell--bless your kind heart--I've been waiting events, indifferent enough to understand his indifference.

WEDGECROFT. Not indifferent.

TREBELL. Lifeless enough already, then. [_Suddenly a thought strikes him._] D'you think it was Horsham and his little committee persuaded O'Connell?

WEDGECROFT. On the contrary.

TREBELL. So you need not have let them into the secret?

WEDGECROFT. No.

TREBELL. Think of that.

_He almost laughs; but_ WEDGECROFT _goes on quite innocently_.

WEDGECROFT. Yes . . I'm sorry.

TREBELL. Upsetting their moral digestion for nothing.

WEDGECROFT. But when O'Connell wouldn't listen to us we had to rope in the important people.

TREBELL. With their united wisdom. [_Then he breaks away again into great bitterness._] No . . what do they make of this woman's death? I saw them in that room, Gilbert, like men seen through the wrong end of a telescope. D'you think if the little affair with Nature . . her offence and mine against the conveniences of civilization . . had ended in my death too . . then they'd have stopped to wonder at the misuse and waste of the only force there is in the world . . come to think of it, there is no other . . than this desire for expression . . in words . . or through children. Would they have thought of that and stopped whispering about the scandal?

_Through this_ WEDGECROFT _has watched him very gravely_.

WEDGECROFT. Trebell . . if the inquest to-morrow had put you out of action . .

TREBELL. Should I have grown a beard and travelled abroad and after ten years timidly tried to climb my way back into politics? When public opinion takes its heel from your face it keeps it for your finger-tips. After twenty years to be forgiven by your more broad-minded friends and tolerated as a dotard by a new generation. . .

WEDGECROFT. Nonsense. What age are you now . . forty-six . . forty-seven?

TREBELL. Well . . let's instance a good man. Gladstone had done his best work by sixty-five. Then he began to be popular. Think of his last years of oratory.

_He has gone to his table and now very methodically starts to tidy his papers_, WEDGECROFT _still watching him_.

WEDGECROFT. You'd have had to thank Heaven for a little that there were more lives than one to lead.

TREBELL. That's another of your faults, Gilbert . . it's a comfort just now to enumerate them. You're an anarchist . . a kingdom to yourself. You make little treaties with Truth and with Beauty, and what can disturb you? I'm a part of the machine I believe in. If my life as I've made it is to be cut short . . the rest of me shall walk out of the world and slam the door . . with the noise of a pistol shot.

WEDGECROFT. [_Concealing some uneasiness._] Then I'm glad it's not to be cut short. You and your cabinet rank and your disestablishment bill!

TREBELL _starts to enjoy his secret_.

TREBELL. Yes . . our minds have been much relieved within the last half hour, haven't they?

WEDGECROFT. I scribbled Horsham a note in a messenger office and sent it as soon as O'Connell had left me.

TREBELL. He'd be glad to get that.

WEDGECROFT. He has been most kind about the whole thing.

TREBELL. Oh, he means well.

WEDGECROFT. [_Following up his fancied advantage._] But, my friend . . suicide whilst of unsound mind would never have done . . The hackneyed verdict hits the truth, you know.

TREBELL. You think so?

WEDGECROFT. I don't say there aren't excuses enough in this miserable world, but fundamentally . . no sane person will destroy life.

TREBELL. [_His thoughts shifting their plane._] Was she so very mad? I'm not thinking of her own death.

WEDGECROFT. Don't brood, Trebell. Your mind isn't healthy yet about her and--

TREBELL. And my child.

_Even_ WEDGECROFT'S _kindness is at fault before the solemnity of this_.

WEDGECROFT. Is that how you're thinking of it?

TREBELL. How else? It's very inexplicable . . this sense of fatherhood. [_The eyes of his mind travel down--what vista of possibilities. Then he shakes himself free._] Let's drop the subject. To finish the list of shortcomings, you're a bit of an artist too . . therefore I don't think you'll understand.

WEDGECROFT. [_Successfully decoyed into argument._] Surely an artist is a man who understands.

TREBELL. Everything about life, but not life itself. That's where art fails a man.

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.

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?

FRANCES. A woman must choose what her interpretation of life is to be . . as a man must too in his way . . as you and I have chosen, Henry.

TREBELL. [_Asking from real interest in her._] Was yours a deliberate choice and do you never regret it?

FRANCES. [_Very simply and clearly._] Perhaps one does nothing quite deliberately and for a definite reason. My state has its compensations . . if one doesn't value them too highly. I've travelled in thought over all this question. You mustn't blame a woman for wishing not to bear children. But . . well, if one doesn't like the fruit one mustn't cultivate the flower. And I suppose that saying condemns poor Amy . . condemned her to death . . [_Then her face hardens as she concentrates her meaning._] and brands most men as . . let's unsentimentally call it =illogical=, doesn't it?

_He takes the thrust in silence._

TREBELL. Did you notice the light in my window as you came in?

FRANCES. Yes . . in both as I got out of the cab. Do you want the curtains drawn back?

TREBELL. Yes . . don't touch them.

_He has thrown himself into his chair by the fire. She lapses into thought again._

FRANCES. Poor little woman.

TREBELL. [_In deep anger._] Well, if women will be little and poor . .

_She goes to him and slips an arm over his shoulder._

FRANCES. What is it you're worried about . . if a mere sister may ask?

TREBELL. [_Into the fire._] I want to think. I haven't thought for years.

FRANCES. Why, you have done nothing else.

TREBELL. I've been working out problems in legal and political algebra.

FRANCES. You want to think of =yourself=.

TREBELL. Yes.

FRANCES. [_Gentle and ironic._] Have you ever, for one moment, thought in that sense of anyone else?

TREBELL. Is that a complaint?

FRANCES. The first in ten years' housekeeping.

TREBELL. No, I never have . . but I've never thought selfishly either.

FRANCES. That's a paradox I don't quite understand.

TREBELL. Until women do they'll remain where they are . . and what they are.

FRANCES. Oh, I know you hate us.

TREBELL. Yes, dear sister, I'm afraid I do. And I hate your influence on men . . compromise, tenderness, pity, lack of purpose. Women don't know the values of things, not even their own value.

_For a moment she studies him, wonderingly._

FRANCES. I'll take up the counter-accusation to-morrow. Now I'm tired and I'm going to bed. If I may insult you by mothering you, so should you. You look tired and I've seldom seen you.

TREBELL. I'm waiting up for a message.

FRANCES. So late?

TREBELL. It's a matter of life and death.

FRANCES. Are you joking?

TREBELL. Yes. If you want to spoil me find me a book to read.

FRANCES. What will you have?

TREBELL. Huckleberry Finn. It's on a top shelf towards the end somewhere . . or should be.

_She finds the book. On her way back with it she stops and shivers._

FRANCES. I don't think I shall sleep to-night. Poor Amy O'Connell!

TREBELL. [_Curiously._] Are you afraid of death?

FRANCES. [_With humorous stoicism._] It will be the end of me, perhaps.

_She gives him the book, with its red cover; the '86 edition, a boy's friend evidently. He fingers it familiarly._

TREBELL. Thank you. Mark Twain's a jolly fellow. He has courage . . comic courage. That's what's wanted. Nothing stands against it. You be-little yourself by laughing . . then all this world and the last and the next grow little too . . and so you grow great again. Switch off some light, will you?

FRANCES. [_Clicking off all but his reading lamp._] So?

TREBELL. Thanks. Good night, Frankie.

_She turns at the door, with a glad smile._

FRANCES. Good night. When did you last use that nursery name?

_Then she goes, leaving him still fingering the book, but looking into the fire and far beyond. Behind him through the open window one sees how cold and clear the night is._

* * * * *

_At eight in the morning he is still here. His lamp is out, the fire is out and the book laid aside. The white morning light penetrates every crevice of the room and shows every line on_ TREBELL'S _face. The spirit of the man is strained past all reason. The door opens suddenly and_ FRANCES _comes in, troubled, nervous. Interrupted in her dressing, she has put on some wrap or other._

FRANCES. Henry . . Simpson says you've not been to bed all night.

_He turns his head and says with inappropriate politeness--_

TREBELL. No. Good morning.

FRANCES. Oh, my dear . . what is wrong?

TREBELL. The message hasn't come . . and I've been thinking.

FRANCES. Why don't you tell me? [_He turns his head away._] I think you haven't the right to torture me.

TREBELL. Your sympathy would only blind me towards the facts I want to face.

SIMPSON, _the maid, undisturbed in her routine, brings in the morning's letters_. FRANCES _rounds on her irritably_.

FRANCES. What is it, Simpson?

MAID. The letters, Ma'am.

TREBELL _is on his feet at that_.

TREBELL. Ah . . I want them.

FRANCES. [_Taking the letters composedly enough._] Thank you.

SIMPSON _departs and_ TREBELL _comes to her for his letters. She looks at him with baffled affection._

FRANCES. Can I do nothing? Oh, Henry!

TREBELL. Help me to open my letters.

FRANCES. Don't you leave them to Mr. Kent?

TREBELL. Not this morning.

FRANCES. But there are so many.

TREBELL. [_For the first time lifting his voice from its dull monotony._] What a busy man I was.

FRANCES. Henry . . you're a little mad.

TREBELL. Do you find me so? That's interesting.

FRANCES. [_With the ghost of a smile._] Well . . maddening.

_By this time he is sitting at his table; she near him watching closely. They halve the considerable post and start to open it._

TREBELL. We arrange them in three piles . . personal . . political . . and preposterous.

FRANCES. This is an invitation . . the Anglican League.

TREBELL. I can't go.

_She looks sideways at him as he goes on mechanically tearing the envelopes._

FRANCES. I heard you come upstairs about two o'clock.

TREBELL. That was to dip my head in water. Then I made an instinctive attempt to go to bed . . got my tie off even.

FRANCES. [_Her anxiety breaking out._] If you'd tell me that you're only ill . . .

TREBELL. [_Forbiddingly commonplace._] What's that letter? Don't fuss . . and remember that abnormal conduct is sometimes quite rational.

FRANCES _returns to her task with misty eyes_.

FRANCES. It's from somebody whose son can't get into something.

TREBELL. The third heap . . Kent's . . the preposterous. [_Talking on with steady monotony._] But I saw it would not do to interrupt that logical train of thought which reached definition about half past six. I had then been gleaning until you came in.

FRANCES. [_Turning the neat little note in her hand._] This is from Lord Horsham. He writes his name small at the bottom of the envelope.

TREBELL. [_Without a tremor._] Ah . . give it me.

_He opens this as he has opened the others, carefully putting the envelope to one side._ FRANCES _has ceased for the moment to watch him_.

FRANCES. That's Cousin Robert's handwriting. [_She puts a square envelope at his hand._] Is a letter marked private from the Education Office political or personal?

_By this he has read_ HORSHAM'S _letter twice. So he tears it up and speaks very coldly._

TREBELL. Either. It doesn't matter.

_In the silence her fears return._

FRANCES. Henry, it's a foolish idea . . I suppose I have it because I hardly slept for thinking of her. Your trouble is nothing to do with Amy O'Connell, is it?

TREBELL. [_His voice strangled in his throat._] Her child should have been my child too.

FRANCES. [_Her eyes open, the whole landscape of her mind suddenly clear._] Oh, I . . no, I didn't think so . . but. . .

TREBELL. [_Dealing his second blow as remorselessly as dealt to him._] Also I'm not joining the new Cabinet, my dear sister.

FRANCES. [_Her thoughts rushing now to the present--the future._] Not! Because of . . ? Do people know? Will they . ? You didn't . . ?

_As mechanically as ever he has taken up_ COUSIN ROBERT'S _letter and, in some sense, read it. Now he recapitulates, meaninglessly, that his voice may just deaden her pain and his own._

TREBELL. Robert says . . that we've not been to see them for some time . . but that now I'm a greater man than ever I must be very busy. The vicarage has been painted and papered throughout and looks much fresher. Mary sends you her love and hopes you have no return of the rheumatism. And he would like to send me the proof sheets of his critical commentary on First Timothy . . for my alien eye might possibly detect some logical lapses. Need he repeat to me his thankfulness at my new attitude upon Disestablishment . . or assure me again that I have his prayers. Could we not go and stay there only for a few days? Possibly his opinion--

_She has borne this cruel kindness as long as she can and she breaks out . ._

FRANCES. Oh . . don't . . don't!

_He falls from his seeming callousness to the very blankness of despair._

TREBELL. No, we'll leave that . . and the rest . . and everything.

_Her agony passes._

FRANCES. What do you mean to do?

TREBELL. There's to be no public scandal.

FRANCES. Why has Lord Horsham thrown you over then . . or hasn't that anything to do with it?

TREBELL. It has to do with it.

FRANCES. [_Lifting her voice; some tone returning to it._] Unconsciously . . I've known for years that this sort of thing might happen to you.

TREBELL. Why?

FRANCES. Power over men and women and contempt for them! Do you think they don't take their revenge sooner or later?

TREBELL. Much good may it do them!

FRANCES. Human nature turns against you . . by instinct . . in self-defence.

TREBELL. And my own human-nature!

FRANCES. [_Shocked into great pity, by his half articulate pain._] Yes . . you must have loved her, Henry . . in some odd way. I'm sorry for you both.

TREBELL. I'm hating her now . . as a man can only hate his own silliest vices.

FRANCES. [_Flashing into defence._] That's wrong of you. If you thought of her only as a pretty little fool . . Bearing your child . . all her womanly life belonged to you . . and for that time there was no other sort of life in her. So she became what you thought her.

TREBELL. That's not true.

FRANCES. It's true enough . . it's true of men towards women. You can't think of them through generations as one thing and then suddenly find them another.

TREBELL. [_Hammering at his fixed idea._] She should have brought that child into the world.

FRANCES. You didn't love her enough!

TREBELL. I didn't love her at all.

FRANCES. Then why should she value your gift?

TREBELL. For its own sake.

FRANCES. [_Turning away._] It's hopeless . . you don't understand.

TREBELL. [_Helpless; almost like a deserted child._] I've been trying to . . all through the night.

FRANCES. [_Turning back enlightened a little._] That's more the trouble then than the Cabinet question?

_He shakes himself to his feet and begins to pace the room; his keenness coming back to him, his brow knitting again with the delight of thought._

TREBELL. Oh . . as to me against the world . . I'm fortified with comic courage. [_Then turning on her like any examining professor._] Now which do you believe . . that Man is the reformer, or that the Time brings forth such men as it needs and lobster-like can grow another claw?

FRANCES. [_Watching this new mood carefully._] I believe that you'll be missed from Lord Horsham's Cabinet.

TREBELL. The hand-made statesman and his hand-made measure! They were out of place in that pretty Tory garden. Those men are the natural growth of the time. Am I?

FRANCES. Just as much. And wasn't your bill going to be such a good piece of work? That can't be thrown away . . wasted.

TREBELL. Can one impose a clever idea upon men and women? I wonder.

FRANCES. That rather begs the question of your very existence, doesn't it?

_He comes to a standstill._

TREBELL. I know.

_His voice shows her that meaning in her words and beyond it a threat. She goes to him, suddenly shaking with fear._

FRANCES. Henry, I didn't mean that.

TREBELL. You think I've a mind to put an end to that same?

FRANCES. [_Belittling her fright._] No . . for how unreasonable. . .

TREBELL. In view of my promising past. I've stood for success, Fanny; I still stand for success. I could still do more outside the Cabinet than the rest of them, inside, will do. But suddenly I've a feeling the work would be barren. [_His eyes shift beyond her; beyond the room._] What is it in your thoughts and actions which makes them bear fruit? Something that the roughest peasant may have in common with the best of us intellectual men . . something that a dog might have. It isn't successful cleverness.

_She stands . . his trouble beyond her reach._

FRANCES. Come now . . you've done very well with your life.

TREBELL. Do you know how empty I feel of all virtue at this moment?

_He leaves her. She must bring him back to the plane on which she can help him._

FRANCES. We must think what's best to be done . . now . . and for the future.

TREBELL. Why, I could go on earning useless money at the Bar . . think how nice that would be. I could blackmail the next judgeship out of Horsham. I think I could even smash his Disestablishment Bill . . and perhaps get into the next Liberal Cabinet and start my own all over again, with necessary modifications. I shan't do any such things.

FRANCES. No one knows about you and poor Amy?

TREBELL. Half a dozen friends. Shall I offer to give evidence at the inquest this morning?

FRANCES. [_With a little shiver._] They'll say bad enough things about her without your blackening her good name.

_Without warning, his anger and anguish break out again._

TREBELL. All she had . . all there is left of her! She was a nothingness . . silly . . vain. And I gave her this power over me!

_He is beaten, exhausted. Now she goes to him, motherlike._

FRANCES. My dear, listen to me for a little. Consider that as a sorrow and put it behind you. And think now . . whatever love there may be between us has neither hatred nor jealousy in it, has it, Henry? Since I'm not a mistress or a friend but just the likest fellow-creature to you . . perhaps.

TREBELL. [_Putting out his hand for hers._] Yes, my sister. What I've wanted to feel for vague humanity has been what I should have felt for you . . if you'd ever made a single demand on me.

_She puts her arms round him; able to speak._

FRANCES. Let's go away somewhere . . I'll make demands. I need refreshing as much as you. My joy of life has been withered in me . . oh, for a long time now. We must kiss the earth again . . take interest in common things, common people. There's so much of the world we don't know. There's air to breathe everywhere. Think of the flowers in a Tyrol valley in the early spring. One can walk for days, not hurrying, as soon as the passes are open. And the people are kind. There's Italy . . there's Russia full of simple folk. When we've learned to be friends with them we shall both feel so much better.

TREBELL. [_Shaking his head, unmoved._] My dear sister . . I should be bored to death. The life contemplative and peripatetic would literally bore me into a living death.

FRANCES. [_Letting it be a fairy tale._] Is your mother the Wide World nothing to you? Can't you open your heart like a child again?

TREBELL. No, neither to the beauty of Nature nor the particular human animals that are always called a part of it. I don't even see them with your eyes. I'm a son of the anger of Man at men's foolishness, and unless I've that to feed upon . . .! [_Now he looks at her, as if for the first time wanting to explain himself, and his voice changes._] Don't you know that when a man cuts himself shaving, he swears? When he loses a seat in the Cabinet he turns inward for comfort . . and if he only finds there a spirit which should have been born, but is dead . . what's to be done then?

FRANCES. [_In a whisper._] You mustn't think of that woman. . .

TREBELL. I've reasoned my way through life. . .

FRANCES. I see how awful it is to have the double blow fall.

TREBELL. [_The wave of his agony rising again._] But here's something in me which no knowledge touches . . some feeling . . some power which should be the beginning of new strength. But it has been killed in me unborn before I had learnt to understand . . and that's killing me.

FRANCES. [_Crying out._] Why . . why did no woman teach you to be gentle? Why did you never believe in any woman? Perhaps even I am to blame. . .

TREBELL. The little fool, the little fool . . why did she kill my child? What did it matter what I thought her? We were committed together to that one thing. Do you think I didn't know that I was heartless and that she was socially in the wrong? But what did Nature care for that? And Nature has broken us.

FRANCES. [_Clinging to him as he beats the air._] Not you. She's dead, poor girl . . but not you.

TREBELL. Yes . . that's the mystery no one need believe till he has dipped in it. The man bears the child in his soul as the woman carries it in her body.

_There is silence between them, till she speaks low and tonelessly, never loosing his hand._

FRANCES. Henry, I want your promise that you'll go on living till . . till . .

TREBELL. Don't cry, Fanny, that's very foolish.

FRANCES. Till you've learnt to look at all this calmly. Then I can trust you.

TREBELL _smiles, not at all grimly_.