TREBELL.  You are not, Blackborough.  You haven’t recovered yet from the shock of your manly feelings.  Oh, cheer up.  You know we’re an adulterous and sterile generation.  Why should you cry out at a proof now and then of what’s always in the hearts of most of us?

FARRANT. [Plaintively.] Now, for God’s sake, Trebell ...  O’Connell has been going on like that.

TREBELL.  Well then ... think of what matters.

BLACKBOROUGH.  Of you and your reputation in fact.

FARRANT. [Kindly.] Why do you pretend to be callous?

      He strokes TREBELL’S shoulder, who shakes him off impatiently.

TREBELL.  Do you all mean to out-face the British Lion with me after to-morrow ... dare to be Daniels?

BLACKBOROUGH.  Bravado won’t carry this off.

TREBELL.  Blackborough ... it would immortalize you.  I’ll stand up in my place in the House of Commons and tell everything that has befallen soberly and seriously.  Why should I flinch?

FARRANT.  My dear Trebell, if your name comes out at the inquest—­

TREBELL.  If it does!... whose has been the real offence against Society ... hers or mine?  It’s I who am most offended ... if I choose to think so.

BLACKBOROUGH.  You seem to forget the adultery.

TREBELL.  Isn’t Death divorce enough for her?  And ... oh, wasn’t I right?...  What do you start thinking of once the shock’s over?  Punishment ... revenge ... uselessness ... waste of me.

FARRANT. [With finality.] If your name comes out at the inquest, to talk of anything but retirement from public life is perfect lunacy ... and you know it.

      HORSHAM comes back from the passage.  He is a little distracted; then
      the more so at finding himself again in a highly-charged atmosphere.

HORSHAM.  He’s gone off with Wedgecroft.

TREBELL. [Including HORSHAM now in his appeal.] Does anyone think he knows me now to be a worse man ... less fit, less able ... than he did a week ago?

      From the piano-stool comes CANTELUPE’S quiet voice.

CANTELUPE.  Yes, Trebell ...  I do.

      TREBELL wheels round at this and ceases all bluster.

TREBELL.  On what grounds?

CANTELUPE.  Unarguable ones.

HORSHAM. [Finding refuge again in his mantelpiece.] You know, he has gone off without giving me his promise.

FARRANT.  That’s your own fault, Trebell.

HORSHAM.  The fool says I didn’t give him explicit instructions.

FARRANT.  What fool?

HORSHAM.  That man ... [The name fails him.] ... my new man.  One of those touches of Fate’s little finger, really.

      He begins to consult the ceiling and the carpet once more. TREBELL
      tackles CANTELUPE with gravity.