CARVE. Well, not to beat about the bush, yes. JANET. I don't consider it very flattering. CARVE. How many times have you told me you hate flattery? JANET. (Running to him.) Now he's hurt. Oh, he's hurt. (Kissing him.) It's a beautiful picture, and the frame's lovely! And she's so glad he didn't forget. CARVE. It is pretty good. In fact it's devilish good. It's one of the best things I ever did in my life. Old Carve would have got eight hundred for that like a shot. JANET. (Sceptically.) Would he? It's wonderful how wonderful people are when they're dead. CARVE. And now will she let him finish reading his paper? JANET. (Handing him the paper, then putting her head close to his and looking at the paper.) What was it he was reading that made him so deaf he couldn't hear his wife when she spoke to him? CARVE. This. JANET. (Reading.) "Ilam Carve's princely bequest. The International Gallery of Art. Foundation stone laying. Eloquent speech by Lord Rosebery." Oh! So they've begun it at last? CARVE. Yes, they've begun it at last. JANET. Well, if you ask me, I should have thought he could have found something better to do with his money. CARVE. As for example? JANET. Well, I should have thought there were more than enough picture galleries as it is. Who wants 'em? Even when they're free, people won't go into them unless it's a wet day. I've never been in a free picture gallery yet that wasn't as empty as a church. Stands to reason! It isn't even a cinematograph. When I see rows of people in Trafalgar Square waiting to get into the National Gallery, then I shall begin to think it's about time we had some more galleries. If I'd been Ilam Carve---- CARVE. Well, what should you have done, witch? JANET. I should have left a bit more to you, for one thing. CARVE. I don't want more. If he'd left me eight hundred a year instead of eighty, I shouldn't be any happier. That's just what I've learnt since I took lodgings in your delightful wigwam, Jane--money and fame have no connection whatever with happiness. JANET. Money has, when you haven't got enough. CARVE. But I have. You won't hear of me paying more than half the household expenses, and you say they're never more than thirty shillings a week. Half thirty--fifteen. Look at the balance it leaves me. JANET. And supposing I had to ask you to pay more? CARVE. (In a serious sympathetic tone, startled.) Anything wrong? JANET. Well, there's nothing wrong, as it were--yet---- CARVE. Jane, I do believe you've been hiding something from me. JANET. (With difficulty pulls a letter from her pocket.) No-- CARVE. I've felt it for several days. JANET. You just haven't then. Because I only got it this morning. Here, you may as well read it. (Handing him the letter.) It's about the brewery.