HORSHAM _comes back from the passage. He is a little distracted; then
the more so at finding himself again in a highly-charged atmosphere._
HORSHAM. He's gone off with Wedgecroft.
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?
HORSHAM. That man ... [_The name fails him._] ... my new man. One of those
touches of Fate's little finger, really.
_He begins to consult the ceiling and the carpet once more._ TREBELL
_tackles_ CANTELUPE _with gravity._
TREBELL. I have only a logical mind, Cantelupe. I know that to make myself a
capable man I've purged myself of all the sins ... I never was idle enough
to commit. I know that if your God didn't make use of men, sins and all ...
what would ever be done in the world? That one natural action, which the
slight shifting of a social law could have made as negligible as eating a
meal, can make me incapable .
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