Pascoe. (To Horning.) We’ll get him into bed now. (To carve.) Bed ready?

Carve.  Yes.  I—­I think he was just making it up.

Pascoe. (Startled.) Does he make up his own bed?

Carve. (Perceiving the mistake, but resuming his calm.) Always.

Pascoe. (Controlling his astonishment; looking through double doors and opening them wider.  To Horning.) Yes, this will do.  Put those things down here a minute while we lift him.

     (Pascoe and Horning then carry the inanimate form of Shawn
     into the room behind, while carve hovers about uselessly.)

Carve.  Can I do anything?

Pascoe. (Indicating a chair furthest away from the double doors.) You see that chair?

Carve.  I see it.

Pascoe.  Go and sit on it.

     (Exeunt Pascoe and Horning, back, closing double door’s.)

(After walking about, carve sits down on another chair.  A bell rings twice.  He pays no attention.  Then enter Janet cannot, L. Carve jumps up, but is inarticulate, though very favourably interested.)

Janet. (Smiling sympathetically.) I rang twice.

Carve.  The bell must be out of order.

Janet.  I couldn’t be sure, but I don’t think it’s the bell that’s out of order.

Carve.  Oh!  You think I’m out of order.

Janet.  No.  I was thinking that you’d only just come into the house—­all you famous folk—­and you hadn’t quite got it straight yet—­as it were.  (Looking vaguely at room.)

Carve.  All we famous folk?

Janet.  Well—­I don’t know myself about that sort of thing.

Carve.  What sort of thing?

Janet.  Picture-painting, isn’t it?  I mean real pictures done by hand, coloured——­carve.  Ah—­yes.

Janet. (After a slight pause.) It struck me all of a sudden, while I was waiting at the door, that it might have been left open on purpose.

Carve.  The front door?  On purpose?  What for?

Janet.  Oh—­for some one particular to walk in without any fuss.  So in I stepped.

Carve.  You’re the young lady that Mr. Shawn’s expecting——­(Going towards passage.)

Janet. (Stopping him.) It’s shut now.  You don’t want everybody walking in, do you?

Carve. (Looking at Janet with pleasure.) So you’re the young lady—­Mrs.—­Miss——­

Janet. (Ignoring his question.) Was it a message you had for me?

Carve.  No, no.  Not a message....  But—­the fact is, we’re rather upset here for the moment.

Janet.  Yes.  Illness.

Carve.  Now, if it isn’t an indiscreet question, how did you know that there was illness?