Carve. Coming over from the Continent.
Janet. Oh! the Continent. It's not Mr. Shawn that's ill?
Carve. (Hesitating.) Mr. Shawn? Oh no, no! It's Ilam Carve.
Janet. (Half whispering. Awed.) Oh, him! Poor thing. And nobody but men in the house.
Carve. And who told you that?
Janet. Well! (waves her hand to indicate the state of the room, smiling indulgently) I always feel sorry for gentlemen when they have to manage for themselves, even if they're well and hearty. But when it comes to illness—I can't bear to think about it. Still, everybody has their own notions of comfort. And I've no doubt he'll very soon be better.
Carve. You think he will?
Janet. (Blandly cheerful.) As a general rule, you may say that people do get better. That's my experience. Of course sometimes they take a longish time. And now and then one dies—else what use would cemeteries be?
[21]But as a general rule they're soon over it. Now am I going to see Mr. Shawn, or shall I——
Carve. Well, if you could call again——