Mrs. Farrant. But one must use democracy. Wellington wouldn't ... Disraeli did.
Lady Davenport. [At the door.] Good-night, Miss Trebell.
Frances Trebell. I'm coming ... it's past eleven.
Mrs. Farrant. [At the window.] What a gorgeous night! I'll come in and kiss you, Mamma.
Frances follows Lady Davenport and Mrs. Farrant starts across the lawn to the billiard room.... An hour later you can see no change in the room except that only one lamp is alight on the table in the middle. Amy O'Connell and Henry Trebell walk past one window and stay for a moment in the light of the other. Her wrap is about her shoulders. He stands looking down at her.
Amy O'Connell. There goes the moon ... it's quieter than ever now. [She comes in.] Is it very late?
Trebell. [As he follows.] Half-past twelve.
Trebell is hard-bitten, brainy, forty-five and very sure of himself. He has a cold keen eye, which rather belies a sensitive mouth; hands which can grip, and a figure that is austere.
Amy O'Connell. I ought to be in bed. I suppose everyone has gone.
Trebell. Early trains to-morrow. The billiard room lights are out.