Farrant. Oh! No one seems to have noticed them together much at any time. My wife ... No matter!
Wedgecroft. She tackled me as a doctor with one part of her trouble ... added she'd been with O'Connell in Ireland, which of course it turns out wasn't true ... asked me to help her. I had to say I couldn't.
Horsham. [Echoing rather than querying.] You couldn't.
Farrant. [Shocked.] My dear Horsham!
Wedgecroft. Well, if she'd told me the truth!... No, anyhow I couldn't. I'm sure there was no excuse. One can't run these risks.
Farrant. Quite right, quite right.
Wedgecroft. There are men who do on one pretext or another.
Farrant. [Not too shocked to be curious.] Are there really?
Wedgecroft. Oh yes, men well known ... in other directions. I could give you four addresses ... but of course I wasn't going to give her one. Though there again ... if she'd told me the whole truth!... My God, women are such fools! And they prefer quackery ... look at the decent doctors they simply turn into charlatans. Though, there again, that all comes of letting a trade work mysteriously under the thumb of a benighted oligarchy ... which is beside the question. But one day I'll make you sit up on the subject of the Medical Council, Horsham.
Horsham assumes an impenetrable air of statesmanship.