TREBELL.  Sorry! [The bell on the table rings jarringly.] Cantelupe!

      He goes to the telephone.  She gets up cold and collected, steadied
      merely by the unexpected sound.

AMY.  I mustn’t keep you from governing the country.  I’m sure you’ll do it very well.

TREBELL. [At the telephone.] Yes, bring him up, of course ... isn’t Mr. Kent there? [then to her.] I may be ten minutes with him or half an hour.  Wait and we’ll come to a conclusion.

KENT comes in, an open letter in his hand.

KENT.  This note, sir.  Had I better go round myself and see him?

TREBELL. [As he takes the note.] Cantelupe’s come.

KENT. [Glancing at the telephone.] Oh, has he!

TREBELL. [As he reads.] Yes I think you had.

KENT.  Evans was very serious.

      He goes back into his room. AMY moves swiftly to where TREBELL is
      standing and whispers.

AMY.  Won’t you tell me whom to go to?

TREBELL.  No.

AMY.  Oh, really ... what unpractical sentimental children you men are!  You and your consciences ... you and your laws.  You drive us to distraction and sometimes to death by your stupidities.  Poor women—!

The Maid comes in to announce LORD CHARLES CANTELUPE, who follows her. CANTELUPE is forty, unathletic, and a gentleman in the best and worst sense of the word.  He moves always with a caution which may betray his belief in the personality of the Devil.  He speaks cautiously too, and as if not he but something inside him were speaking.  One feels that before strangers he would not if he could help it move or speak at all.  A pale face:  the mouth would be hardened by fanaticism were it not for the elements of Christianity in his religion:  and he has the limpid eye of the enthusiast.

TREBELL.  Glad to see you.  You know Mrs O’Connell.

      CANTELUPE bows in silence.

AMY.  We have met.

      She offers her hand.  He silently takes it and drops it.

TREBELL.  Then you’ll wait for Frances.

AMY.  Is it worth while?

      KENT with his hat on leaves his room and goes downstairs.

TREBELL.  Have you anything better to do?

AMY.  There’s somewhere I can go.  But I mustn’t keep you chatting of my affairs.  Lord Charles is impatient to disestablish the Church.

CANTELUPE. [Unable to escape a remark.] Forgive me, since that is also your affair.

AMY.  Oh ... but I was received at the Oratory when I was married.

CANTELUPE. [With contrition.] I beg your pardon.

      Then he makes for the other side of the room, TREBELL and MRS.
      O’CONNELL stroll to the door, their eyes full of meaning.