He goes. trebell follows him to the door which he shuts. Then he turns to face amy, who is tearing up the paper she wrote on.
trebell. What is it?
amy. [Her steady voice breaking, her carefully calculated control giving way.] Oh Henry . . Henry!
trebell. Are you in trouble?
amy. You'll hate me, but . . oh, it's brutal of you to have been away so long.
trebell. Is it with your husband?
amy. Perhaps. Oh, come nearer to me . . do.
trebell. [Coming nearer without haste or excitement.] Well? [Her eyes are closed.] My dear girl, I'm too busy for love-making now. If there are any facts to be faced, let me have them . . quite quickly.
She looks up at him for a moment; then speaks swiftly and sharply as one speaks of disaster.
amy. There's a danger of my having a child . . your child . . some time in April. That's all.