And in the middle of the room is an enormous double writing table
piled tidily with much appropriate impedimenta, blue books and pamphlets and
with an especial heap of unopened letters and parcels. At the table sits_
TREBELL _himself, in good health and spirits, but eyeing askance the work to
which he has evidently just returned. His sister looks in on him. She is
dressed to go out and has a housekeeping air._
FRANCES. Are you busy, Henry?
TREBELL. More or less. Come in.
FRANCES. You'll dine at home?
TREBELL. Anyone coming?
FRANCES. Julia Farrant and Lucy have run up to town, I think. I thought of
going round and asking them to come in ... but perhaps your young man will
be going there. Amy O'Connell said something vague about our going to
Charles Street ... but she may be out of town by now.
TREBELL. Well ... I'll be in anyhow.
FRANCES. [_Going to the window as she buttons her gloves._] Were you on deck
early this morning? It must have been lovely.
TREBELL. No, I turned in before we got out of le Havre. I left Kent on deck
and found him there at six.
FRANCES. I don't think autumn means to come at all this year ... it'll be
winter one morning. September has been like a hive of bees, busy and drowsy.
By the way, Cousin Mary has another baby ... a girl.
TREBELL. [_Indifferent to the information._] That's the fourth.
FRANCES. Fifth.
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