JANET. If it isn't a rude question, Mr. Shawn, why 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 we'd been together a long time, and his death is a shock to me. Yes, really. But I've had to think so much about my own case--and then a scene, a regular scene with Cyrus Carve. And then you coming. The fact is----