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.