[Robert Lutece had never been inclined to view the high likelihood of having become sterile from constant exposure to his and Rosalind's machine a bad thing. He supposed, in the interest of passing on genetics of brilliance, he ought to have...

But situations like this reminded him why he didn't mind it so much.

He was not father material.]

You--

["'You've never asked my advice on anything before.' Go on, brother. Say it. We both know you want to."]

Rosalind.

["Don't use that tone with me, Robert. Lying to the girl does nothing."]

Yes, I know--

["--So tell her."]

I can't. You know that as well as I do. It's hardly--

[He cuts off, realizing both his own agitation and that he has been... carrying on a conversation with no one.

Robert sighs softly and shakes his head.]

Some things are out of your hands, Elizabeth. When he has to, Mister DeWitt will make the right decision.

He always does.

["Does he? Since when?"]

Eventually.