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?