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.

AMY O'CONNELL. The walk has just tired me comfortably.

TREBELL. Sit down. [_She sits by the table. He sits by her and says with the
air of a certain buyer at a market._] You're very pretty.

AMY O'CONNELL. As well here as by moonlight? Can't you see any wrinkles?

TREBELL. One or two ... under the eyes. But they give character and bring
you nearer my age. Yes, Nature hit on the right curve in making you.

_She stretches herself, cat-like._

AMY O'CONNELL. Praise is the greatest of luxuries, isn't it, Henry? ...
Henry ... [_she caresses the name._]

TREBELL. Quite right ... Henry.