Charles (appearing at window). Nobody’s here. I must see Clara! (Door opens.) I wouldn’t be seen. Twitters is capable of setting dogs on me. (Dodges down. Enter Clara.)
Clara. Papa! Is that horrid man gone? Papa?
Charles (appearing again). Hush!
Clara (starting and turning). Oh!—It’s you, and crawling through the window. Dr. Squillcox.
Charles. “Dr. Squillcox.” O, Clara—come here.
Clara (approaching window). I hate you. If you had really loved me you would have shown more courage with papa.
Charles. It was insane of me to ask a man for his daughter’s hand before he had eaten his breakfast. (Takes her hand.) But it’s all serene, little girl. I’ll make it well. (Kisses her.)
Clara. It doesn’t make it well at all.
Charles. I have such an immense plan. You must be taken very ill, this afternoon. Your father will forget his dyspepsia in worrying over you. All remedies they give you must fail. Old Dr. Parkinson is away, and—
Clara (clapping her hands). And papa will have to send for you. At your first powder—you mustn’t give me pills—I can’t take them—I’ll get well immediately.