CARVE. Are they? (Musing.) We're here now owing to one of his moments of rashness. PASCOE. Indeed! CARVE. Yes. We met an English lady in a village in Andalusia, and--well, of course, I can't tell you everything--but she flirted with him and he flirted with her. PASCOE. Under his own name? CARVE. Yes. And then he proposed to her. I knew all along it was a blunder. PASCOE. (Ironic.) Did you? CARVE. Yes. She belonged to the aristocracy, and she was one of those amateur painters that wander about the Continent by themselves--you know. PASCOE. And did she accept? CARVE. Oh yes. They got as far as Madrid together, and then all of a sudden my esteemed saw that he had made a mistake. PASCOE. And what then? CARVE. We fled the country. We hooked it. The idea of coming to London struck him--just the caprice of a man who's lost his head--and here we are. PASCOE. (After a pause.) He doesn't seem to me from the look of him to be a man who'd--shall we say?--strictly avoided women. CARVE. (Startled, with a gesture towards back.) Him? (PASCOE nods.) Really! Confound him! Now I've always suspected that; though he manages to keep his goings-on devilish quiet. PASCOE. (Rising.) It occurs to me, my friend, that I'm listening to too much. But you're so persuasive. CARVE. It's such a pleasure to talk freely--for once in a way. PASCOE. Freely--is the word. CARVE. Oh! He won't mind! PASCOE. (In a peculiar tone.) It's quite possible! (Enter HORNING.) HORNING. (To Carve.) I say, it's just occurred to me, Mr. Carve hasn't been digging or gardening or anything, I suppose, and then taken cold after? CARVE. Digging? Oh no. He must have got a bad chill on the steamer. Why? HORNING. Nothing. Only his hands and finger-nails are so rough. CARVE. (After thinking.) Oh, I see! All artists are like that. Messing about with paints and acids and things. Look at my hands. PASCOE. But are you an artist too? CARVE. (Recovering himself, calmly.) No, no. PASCOE. (To Horning.) How's he going on? HORNING. (Shrugs his shoulders.) I'm sure the base of both lungs is practically solid. PASCOE. Well, we can't do more than we have done, my boy. HORNING. He'll never pull through. PASCOE. (Calmly.) I should certainly be surprised if he did. CARVE. (Astounded.) But--but---- PASCOE. But what? CARVE. You don't mean to say--Why, he's a strong healthy man! PASCOE. Precisely. Not very unusual for your strong healthy man to die of pneumonia in twenty-four hours. You ought to know, at your age, that it's a highly dangerous thing to be strong and healthy. (Turning away.) I'll have another look at him before I go. CARVE. (Extremely perturbed.) But this is ridiculous. I simply don't know what I shall do without that man. The stage is darkened for a few moments to indicate passage of time. SCENE 2 TIME.--The next morning but one. Slightly less disorder in the room. CARVE and PASCOE are together, the latter ready to leave.