Trebell. [The wave of his agony rising again.] But here's something in me which no knowledge touches ... some feeling ... some power which should be the beginning of new strength. But it has been killed in me unborn before I had learnt to understand ... and that's killing me.
Frances. [Crying out.] Why ... why did no woman teach you to be gentle? Why did you never believe in any woman? Perhaps even I am to blame....
Trebell. The little fool, the little fool ... why did she kill my child? What did it matter what I thought her? We were committed together to that one thing. Do you think I didn't know that I was heartless and that she was socially in the wrong? But what did Nature care for that? And Nature has broken us.
Frances. [Clinging to him as he beats the air.] Not you. She's dead, poor girl ... but not you.
Trebell. Yes ... that's the mystery no one need believe till he has dipped in it. The man bears the child in his soul as the woman carries it in her body.
There is silence between them, till she speaks low and tonelessly, never loosing his hand.
Frances. Henry, I want your promise that you'll go on living till ... till....
Trebell. Don't cry, Fanny, that's very foolish.
Frances. Till you've learnt to look at all this calmly. Then I can trust you.
Trebell smiles, not at all grimly.