Roger. Diggory, I will await him patiently.
[Sits.
Diggory retires, then returns.
Diggory. Doctor, may I beg a word with you?
Roger. A thousand if you will.
Diggory. I would speak in confidence.
Roger. The manner would become thee, Diggory. But speak, man! Say on.
Diggory. I need a philter, Doctor. For the love of mercy—
Roger. For the love of good liquor, Diggory, thou shalt have twenty filters. Still decanting?
Diggory. O, sir! not that kind of filter. I'm in love!