frances. Henry . . Simpson says you've not been to bed all night.
He turns his head and says with inappropriate politeness—
trebell. No. Good morning.
frances. Oh, my dear . . what is wrong?
trebell. The message hasn't come . . and I've been thinking.
frances. Why don't you tell me? [He turns his head away.] I think you haven't the right to torture me.
trebell. Your sympathy would only blind me towards the facts I want to face.
simpson, the maid, undisturbed in her routine, brings in the morning's letters. frances rounds on her irritably.
frances. What is it, Simpson?