CARVE. I see. (Sits down.)
JANET. If nothing comes of all this--
CARVE. All what?
JANET. All this illness and nursing and sitting up at nights,--then I'm
just your cousin, and no harm done.
CARVE. But do you mean to say you'd--
JANET. (Stopping-him.) Not so fast! (Pause. She continues
reflectively.) Do you know what struck me while her ladyship was
telling you about all the grand doings at the funeral--What good has it
ever done him to be celebrated and make a big splash in the world? Was
he any happier for it? From all I can hear he was always trying to hide
just as if the police were after him. He never had the slightest notion
of comfort, and so you needn't tell me! And there's another thing--you
needn't tell me he wasn't always worrying about some girl or other,
because I know he was. A bachelor at his age never thinks about anything
else--morning, noon, and night. It stands to reason--and they can say
what they like--I know. And now he's dead--probably because he'd no
notion of looking after himself, and it's been in all the papers how
wonderful he was, and florists' girls have very likely sat up half the
night making wreaths, and Westminster Abbey was crowded out with
fashionable folk--and do you know what all those fashionable folk are
thinking about just now--tea! And if it isn't tea, it's whisky and soda.
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