John.
Yessir.
[John withdraws, carrying Bertram's outdoor things into the vestibule and shutting the vestibule door.
Philip.
[Calling to Bertram again.] I'm in the throes of tying a bow, old man. Sit down. [Bertram, glaring at the bedroom door, remains standing.] O'ho, that's fine! Ha, ha, ha! I warn you, I'm an overpowering swell to-night. A new suit of clothes, Bertram, devised and executed in less than thirty-six hours! And a fit, sir; every item of it! You'll be green with envy when you see this coat. I'm ready for you. Handkerchief—? [Shouting.] John—! Oh, here it is! [Switching off the light in the bedroom and appearing, immaculately dressed, in the doorway.] Behold! [Closing the door and advancing to Bertram.] How are you, Bertram? [Bertram refuses Philip's hand by putting his own behind his back. Philip raises his eyebrows.] Oh? [A pause.] Anything amiss? [Observing Bertram's heated look.] You don't look well, Filson.
Bertram.
[Breathing heavily.] No, I'm not well—I mean t'say, I'm sick with indignation——
Philip.
What about?
Bertram.