TREBELL. He'd be glad to get that.
WEDGECROFT. He has been most kind about the whole thing.
TREBELL. Oh, he means well.
WEDGECROFT. [_Following up his fancied advantage._] But, my friend ...
suicide whilst of unsound mind would never have done.... The hackneyed
verdict hits the truth, you know.
TREBELL. You think so?
WEDGECROFT. I don't say there aren't excuses enough in this miserable
world, but fundamentally ... no sane person will destroy life.
TREBELL. [_His thoughts shifting their plane._] Was she so very mad? I'm not
thinking of her own death.
WEDGECROFT. Don't brood, Trebell. Your mind isn't healthy yet about her
and--
TREBELL. And my child.
_Even_ WEDGECROFT'S _kindness is at fault before the solemnity of
this._
WEDGECROFT. Is that how you're thinking of it?
TREBELL. How else? It's very inexplicable ... this sense of fatherhood.
[_The eyes of his mind travel down--what vista of possibilities. Then he
shakes himself free._] Let's drop the subject. To finish the list of
shortcomings, you're a bit of an artist too ... therefore I don't think
you'll understand.
WEDGECROFT. [_Successfully decoyed into argument._] Surely an artist is a
man who understands.
TREBELL. Everything about life, but not life itself. That's where art fails
a man.
WEDGECROFT. That's where everything but living fails a man. [_Drifting into
introspection himself.
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