CARVE. Upon my soul I think I must. (Attempts to rise.)

JANET. Now, please, don't move. What is it you want?

CARVE. I was only going to telephone and have the daily papers sent up.

JANET. Where is the telephone?

CARVE. (Pointing.) There.

JANET. So they've put a telephone in your room?

CARVE. Telephone in every room.

JANET. (Going to telephone.) Can I telephone for you? I never have telephoned, and I should like to. How do you do it?

CARVE. Just take that thing off the hook and talk into it. (JANET gingerly obeys.) It won't explode.

JANET. What am I to say?

CARVE. Tell them to send me up the daily papers at once.

JANET. All?

CARVE. Yes.

JANET. But will they?

CARVE. Certainly.

JANET. (Into telephone.) Please will you send up all the daily papers at once.

CARVE. Thanks very much. Now you can hang it up again.

JANET. So this is the Grand Babylon Hotel? Well it's a queer place.

(Her eyes rove round the room.)

CARVE. What are you looking for?

JANET. To speak plainly, I was looking for the bed. I must say I was rather surprised when the young man at the desk said I was to go up to your room.... But really, every thing's so nicely arranged.... I suppose it's one of those folding beds that turn into bookcases and things?

CARVE. (Laughs.) No. This is my sitting-room.

JANET. Your sitting-room? (Pointing to door, R.) Then that's the bedroom?

CARVE. Yes.

JANET. (Pointing to another door.) And what's that?

CARVE. That's one way to my bathroom. In a big hotel I always take a suite, you know. It's so much more comfortable.

JANET. Isn't it rather expensive?

CARVE. To tell you the truth, I didn't ask the price.

(Knock at door.)

JANET. (Charmingly tart.) I suppose it's what you call "cheapest in the end." CARVE. Come in.

(Enter PAGE with a pile of papers.)

CARVE. Thanks! Give them to me.

(Exit PAGE.)

JANET. Well, I never! It's like magic.

CARVE. Now let's just glance at these chaps. (Unfolding a paper.)

JANET. Shall I help you?

CARVE. Why? Here's black borders and a heading across two columns!

"Death of England's greatest painter," "Irreparable loss to the world's art," "Our readers will be shocked----" Are they all like that? (More and more astonished; takes another paper.) "Sad death of a great genius."

JANET. (Handing him still another paper.) And this.

CARVE. "London's grief." "The news will come as a personal blow to every lover of great painting." But--but--I'd no notion of this. (Half to himself.) It's terrible.

JANET. Well, perhaps always living with him you wouldn't realize how important he was, would you? (Distant music begins again, a waltz tune.)

CARVE. (Reading.) "Although possibly something of a poseur in his choice of subjects...." The fellow's a fool. Poseur indeed!

JANET. Look at this. "Europe in mourning."

CARVE. Well--well.

JANET. What is that music?

CARVE. London's grief. It's the luncheon orchestra downstairs.

(Telephone bell rings.)

CARVE. Never mind it. Let 'em ring. I understand now why journalists and so on have been trying all day to see me. Honestly I'm--I'm staggered.

(Telephone bell continues to ring.)

JANET. It's a funny notion of comfort having a telephone in every room.

How long will it keep on like that?

CARVE. I'll stop it. (Rising.)