CARVE. (Thoughtfully.) Do you know--a good deal of what you say applies to me.

JANET. And you now! As we're on the subject--before we go any further--you're a bachelor of forty-five, same as him. What have you been doing with yourself lately?

CARVE. Doing with myself?

JANET. Well, I think I ought to ask because when I was stealing (with a little nervous laugh) the money out of your pocket to pay that hotel bill, I came across a lady's photograph. I couldn't help coming across it. Seeing how things are, I think I ought to ask.

CARVE. Oh, that! It must be a photograph of the lady he was engaged to. He broke it off, you know. That was why we came to London in such a hurry.

JANET. Then it is true--what the newspaper reporter said? (CARVE nods.) One of the aristocracy--(CARVE nods.) Who was she?

CARVE. Lady Alice Rowfant.

JANET. What was it doing in your pocket?

CARVE. I don't know. Everything got mixed up. Clothes, papers, everything.

JANET. Sure?

CARVE. Of course! Look here, do you suppose Lady Alice Rowfant is anything to me?

JANET. She isn't?

CARVE. No.

JANET. Honestly? (Looking at him closely.)

CARVE. Honestly.

JANET. (With obvious relief.) Well, that's all right then! Now will you drink this milk, please.

CARVE. I just wanted to tell you----

JANET. Will you drink this milk? (Pours out a gla.s.sful for him.)

(CARVE addresses himself to the milk.)

(JANET begins to put on her things.)

CARVE. But I say, what are you doing?

JANET. I'm going home.

CARVE. What? Now?

JANET. At once.

CARVE. But you can't leave me like this. I'm very ill.

JANET. Oh no, you aren't. You're very much better. Anyone can see that.

All you've got to do is to return to bed and stick to slops.

CARVE. And when shall you come back?

JANET. You might come down to see me one day at Putney.

CARVE. I shall be delighted to. But before that, won't you come here?

JANET. (After a pause.) I'll try and come the day after to-morrow.

CARVE. Why not to-morrow?

JANET. Well, a couple of days without me'll do you no harm. It's a mistake to be in a hurry when you've got all your life in front of you.

CARVE. (After a pause.) Listen--have some tea before you go.

JANET. No. (Holds out her hand, smiling.) Good afternoon. Now do go to bed.

CARVE. I haven't begun to thank you.

JANET. No--and I hope you won't begin.

CARVE. You're so sudden.

JANET. It's sudden or nothing.

CARVE. (Holding her hand.) I say--what can you see in me?

JANET. Well, if it comes to that--what can you see in me? (Withdrawing her hand.)

CARVE. I--I don't know what it is.... Something.... (Lightly.) I dunno! Everything!

JANET. That's too much. Good-bye! I'll come about this time the day after to-morrow.

CARVE. Supposing I have a relapse?

JANET. (At door.) You won't if you do as I tell you.

CARVE. But supposing I do?

JANET. Well, you can always telegraph, can't you?

(Exit.)

(CARVE, after finishing milk, suddenly gets up and searches on writing table: he then goes to the telephone.)

CARVE. (Into telephone.) Please send me up a telegraph form.