Janet. (Handing him still another paper.) And this.

Carve.  “London’s grief.”  “The news will come as a personal blow to every lover of great painting.”  But—­but—­I’d no notion of this. (Half to himself.) It’s terrible.

Janet.  Well, perhaps always living with him you wouldn’t realize how important he was, would you? (Distant music begins again, a waltz tune.)

Carve. (Reading.) “Although possibly something of a poseur in his choice of subjects....”  The fellow’s a fool.  Poseur indeed!

Janet.  Look at this.  “Europe in mourning.”

Carve.  Well—­well.

Janet.  What is that music?

Carve.  London’s grief.  It’s the luncheon orchestra downstairs.

     (Telephone bell rings.)

Carve.  Never mind it.  Let ’em ring.  I understand now why journalists and so on have been trying all day to see me.  Honestly I’m—­I’m staggered.

     (Telephone bell continues to ring.)

Janet.  It’s a funny notion of comfort having a telephone in every room.  How long will it keep on like that?

Carve.  I’ll stop it. (Rising.)

Janet.  No, no. (Going to telephone and taking receiver.) Yes?  What’s the matter? (Listens.  To carve.) Oh, what do you think?  Father Looe and his sister, Miss Honoria Looe, want to see you.

Carve.  Father Looe?  Never heard of him.

Janet.  Oh, but you must have heard of him.  He’s the celebrated Roman Catholic preacher.  He’s a beautiful man.  I heard him preach once on the Sins of Society.

Carve.  Would you mind saying I’m not at home?

Janet. (Obviously disappointed.) Then won’t you see him?

Carve.  Did you want to see him?

Janet.  I should like just to have had a look at him close to, as it were.

Carve. (Gallantly.) Then you shall.  Tell them to send him up, will you?

Janet.  And am I to stay here?

Carve.  Of course.

Janet.  Well, if anybody had told me this time last week——­(Into telephone.) Please ask them to come up.

Carve.  Perhaps with your being here I shan’t be quite so shy.

Janet.  Shy!  Are you shy?  It said in the Telegraph that Mr. Carve was painfully shy.

Carve. (Protesting.) Painfully!  Who told them that, I should like to know?

Janet.  Now shyness is a thing I simply can’t understand.  I’m never shy.  And you don’t strike me as shy—­far from it.

Carve.  It’s very curious.  I haven’t felt a bit shy with you.

Janet.  Nobody ever is shy with me.... (Ironically.) I must say I’d give something to see you shy.

     (Enter father Looe and Honoria Looe, announced by page.)
 Looe. (Stopping near door, at a loss.) Pardon me—­Mr. Shawn—­Mr. Albert Shawn?