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.