(Cold and hard.) Well, I like that!
JANET. (Weeping.) It's not my fault if I don't believe you're Ilam
Carve. I would if I could, but I can't! You're very cruel.
CARVE. (Jumping up and embracing her.) Hush, hush! There!
(Cajolingly.) Who's being an infant now?
JANET. I don't pretend to understand this art.
CARVE. I hope you never will. One of the chief charms of existence in
your wigwam, my child, is that I never hear any confounded chatter about
art. Now--are we pals?
JANET. (Smiling reconciliation.) Darling, do turn the gas up.
CARVE. (Obeying, struck by her attire.) Why--what are you dressed
like that for?
JANET. I was thinking of going away.
(Exit, L.)
(She re-enters immediately with kettle and puts it on fire.)
CARVE. Going away?
JANET. (Smiling.) Now do listen, darling. Let's go away. We can't stop
here. This Ebag case is getting more and more on your nerves, and on
mine too. I'm sure that's what's the matter with us. What it'll be next
week when the trial comes on, I don't know--upon my soul I don't.
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