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.