do you typewrite your
letters? It seems so--what shall I say?--public.

CARVE. (Half to himself.) So thats the explanation of the
typewriter.

JANET. (Puzzled.) I suppose it's because you're a private secretary.

CARVE. (Equally puzzled.) Private secretary! I--shall we just glance
through my reply? (Reads.) "My dear Mrs. Cannot, your letter inspires
me with more confidence than any of the dozens of others I have
received." (They look at each other, smiling.) "As regards myself, I
should state at once that I am and have been for many years private
secretary, indeed I may say almost companion, to the celebrated painter.
Mr. Ilam Carve, whose magnificent pictures you are doubtless familiar
with."

JANET. No, I'm not.

CARVE. Really. "We have been knocking about England together for longer
than I care to remember, and I personally am anxious for a change. Our
present existence is very expensive. I feel the need of a home and the
companionship of just such a woman as yourself. Although a bachelor, I
think I am not unfitted for the domestic hearth. My age is forty."
That's a mistake of the typewriter.

JANET. Oh!

CARVE. Forty-five it ought to be.

JANET. Well, honestly, I shouldn't have thought it.

CARVE. "My age is forty-five. By a strange coincidence Mr. Carve has
suggested to me that we set out for England to-morrow. At Dover I will
telegraph you with a rendezvous. In great haste. Till then, my dear Mrs.
Cannot, believe me," etc.

JANET. You didn't send a photograph.

CARVE. Perhaps I was afraid of prejudicing you in advance.

JANET. (Laughs.) Eh, Mr. Shawn! There's thousands of young gentlemen
alive and kicking in London this minute that would give a great deal to
be only half as good looking as you are. And so you're a bachelor?

CARVE. Oh, quite.

JANET. Two bachelors, as you say, knocking about Europe together. (CARVE
laughs quietly but heartily to himself.) By the way, how is Mr. Carve?
I hope he's better.

CARVE. Mr. Carve?...(Suddenly stops laughing.) Oh! (Lamely,
casually.) He's dead!

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