Janet. (Stocked.) Dead?  When?

Carve.  Early this morning.

Janet. (Rising.) And us chattering away like this.  Why didn’t you tell me at once, Mr. Shawn?

Carve.  I forgot for the moment.  I wasn’t thinking——­

Janet.  Forgot?

Carve. (Simply and sincerely, but very upset.) Now, Mrs. Cannot, I assure you I feel that man’s death.  I admit I had very little affection for him—­certainly not much respect—­but we’d been together a long time, and his death is a shock to me.  Yes, really.  But I’ve had to think so much about my own case—­and then a scene, a regular scene with Cyrus Carve.  And then you coming.  The fact is——­

Janet. (Sympathetically.) The fact is, you scarcely know what you’re doing, my poor Mr. Shawn.  You’re on wires, that’s what’s the matter with you—­hysteria.  I know what it is as well as anybody.  You’ll excuse me saying so, but you’re no ordinary man.  You’re one of these highly-strung people and you ought to take care of yourself.  Well, I’ll go now, and if it’s mutually agreeable we might perhaps meet again in a month’s time—­say.

Carve.  A month?  But what am I to do with myself for a month?  Do you know you’re absolutely the only friend I’ve got in London—­in England.  We’re never here.  I’m an utter stranger.  You can’t leave me like that—­for a month—­four weeks—­four Sundays.  I haven’t the least idea what’s going to happen to me.

Janet.  The very best thing that can happen to you is bed.  You go to bed and stop there for a couple of days.  There’s nothing like it.

Carve.  Yes, but where?

Janet.  Why, here of course.

Carve.  I’ve got to be out of this place in half an hour, less.  The fact is, Cyrus Carve has been extremely—­er—­pert.  He’s paid me a month’s salary and I’m off at once.  In under thirty minutes I shall be on the streets.

Janet.  I never liked that man.  Well, then, you must go to some nice respectable boarding-house.

Carve.  But I don’t know any nice respectable boarding-house.

Janet.  Oh!  There are thousands and thousands in London.  Look in the Telegraph.

Carve.  I haven’t had a paper to-day.

Janet.  Any day will do.  They’re in all the papers every day.  What’s this? (Taking up folded dirty newspaper and opening it.) Now, let’s see.  Well, what about this?  “A beautiful private hotel of the highest class.  Luxuriously furnished.  Visitors’ comfort studied.  Finest position in London.  Cuisine a speciality.  Suitable for persons of superior rank.  Bathroom.  Electric light.  Separate tables.  No irritating extras.  Single rooms from two and a half guineas. 250 Queen’s Gate.”  Quite close by!  (Carve says nothing.) Perhaps that’s a bit dear.  Here’s another.  “Not a boarding-house.  A magnificent mansion.  Forty bedrooms by Waring.  Superb public saloons by Maple.  Parisian chef.  Separate tables.  Four bathrooms.  Card-rooms.  Billiard room.  Vast lounge.  Special sanitation.  Young, cheerful, musical society.  Bridge (small).  Finest position in London.  No irritating extras.  Single rooms from two guineas.”  What about that?