Trebell. Is it with your husband?
Amy. Perhaps. Oh, come nearer to me ... do.
Trebell. [Coming nearer without haste or excitement.] Well? [Her eyes are closed.] My dear girl, I'm too busy for love-making now. If there are any facts to be faced, let me have them ... quite quickly.
She looks up at him for a moment; then speaks swiftly and sharply as one speaks of disaster.
Amy. There's a danger of my having a child ... your child ... some time in April. That's all.
Trebell. [A sceptic who has seen a vision.] Oh ... it's impossible.
Amy. [Flashing at him, revengefully.] Why?
Trebell. [Brought to his mundane self] Well ... are you sure?
Amy. [In sudden agony.] D'you think I want it to be true? D'you think I—? You don't know what it is to have a thing happening in spite of you.
Trebell. [His face set in thought.] Where have you been since we met?