Cyrus. This is Mr. Albert Shawn. Shawn, a friend of yours.
(Exit L.)
Carve. (Pleased.) Oh! You!
Janet. Good-morning. D'you know, I had a suspicion the other night that you must be Mr. Shawn?
Carve. Had you? Well, will you sit down—er—I say (with a humorous mysterious air). What do you think of that chap? (Pointing in direction of hall.)
Janet. Who is it?
Carve. It's Mr. Cyrus Carve. The great West End auctioneer.
(Sound of front-door shutting rather too vigorously.)
Janet. Well, I see no reason why he should look at me as if I'd insulted him.
Carve. Did he?