John pressed himself deeper into his armchair.
"Really? But I never knew monks could marry," objected number two.
"I tell you, he broke his vows."
"Oh, I see," murmured number two, who was evidently no wiser, but was anxious to appear so.
"Well, it seems that this fellow Armitage is a thundering fine poet, but without much experience of the stage. Of course, he wouldn't have had much as a monk."
"Of course not," agreed number two, decidedly.
"So, what does Johnnie Touchwood do—"
"Damned impudence calling me Johnnie," thought the subject of the duologue.
"But make a contract with his brother-in-law to stay out of the way down in Devonshire or Dorsetshire—I forget which—but, anyway, down in the depths of the country somewhere, and write all the best speeches in old Johnnie's plays. Now, it seems there's been a family row, and they tell me that Armitage is going to sue Johnnie."
"What was the row about?"