Janet. (Starting up.) Mr. Shawn, what are you doing out of bed?  After such a dose of flu as you’ve had!

Carve.  I’m doing nothing out of bed. (Twiddles his thumbs.)

Janet.  But you’ve no right to be out of bed at all.

Carve.  I was afraid I hadn’t.  But I called and called, and there was no answer.  So then I began to argue the point.  Why not get up?  I’d had a tremendous long sleep.  I felt singularly powerful.  And I thought you’d gone home.

Janet.  Nay—­that you never did!

Carve.  I did, honestly.

Janet.  Do you mean to say you thought for a single moment I should go home and leave you like that?

Carve.  Yes.  But of course I thought you might be coming back sooner or later.

Janet.  Well I never!

Carve.  You’ve scarcely left me for three days and three nights, Mrs. Cannot, so far as I remember.  Surely it was natural for me to suppose that you’d gone home to your own affairs.

Janet. (Sarcastically.) It didn’t occur to you I might have dropped off to sleep?

Carve.  Now, don’t be angry.  I’m only convalescent.

Janet.  Will you kindly march right back to bed this instant?

Carve.  No, I’m dashed if I do!

Janet.  I beg pardon.

Carve.  I say, I’m dashed if I do!  I won’t stir until I’ve thanked you.  I’ve been ill I don’t know how many times; but this is the first time in my life I’ve ever enjoyed being ill.  D’you know (with an ingenuous smile.) I’d really no idea what nursing was.

Janet. (Drily.) Hadn’t you?  Well, if you call that nursing, I don’t.  But it was the best I could do in this barracks, with the kitchen a mile and a half off, and a pack of men that can’t understand English gaping at you all day in evening-dress.  I dare say this is a very good hotel for reading newspapers in.  But if you want anything that isn’t on the menu, it’s as bad as drawing money out of the post office savings bank.  You should see me nurse in my own house.

Carve.  I should like to.  Even in this barracks (imitating her.) you’ve quite altered my views of life.

Janet.  Yes, and they wanted altering.  When I think of you and that other poor fellow wandering about all alone on that Continent—­without the slightest notion of what comfort is....  Well, I’ll say this—­it’s a pleasure to nurse you.  Now, will you go back to bed?

Carve.  I suppose coffee’s on the menu?

Janet.  Coffee?

Carve.  I think I should like some cafe au lait, and a roll.

Janet. (Rising.) You can have hot milk if you like.

Carve.  All right.  And then when I’ve had it I’ll go to bed.

Janet. (At telephone.) Are you there?

Carve. (Picking up a sheet of paper from table.) Hello!  What’s this? 
Hotel bill-receipted?