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