Thwaite looking at railing and feeling it to see where it is giving.
SCENE II.
Fifteen years have elapsed.
Scene: Dr Merton's rooms in Devonshire Street—a room with a deep bay window at back. Room empty as curtain goes up. Enter Merton, with hat on. He takes it off and throws it down, flings himself into a chair by table.
Merton. Oh, dear, I'm tired! [Sees a letter lying on table, opens it, smiles] 'Next week'…. [sits reflecting a moment, evidently with pleasure, hands behind his head, then takes up letter again and reads it. Begins writing as though answering the letter to which he refers, then rings handbell on table.]
[Enter Mrs Plant]. [She stands waiting].
Merton. Oh, Mrs Plant. I want to speak to you about one or two things.
Mrs Plant. Yes, sir? [she waits]. It wasn't about the soup being cold, sir? For it was, there's no denying it. But then you did keep your dinner waiting to-night.
Merton. Yes, the soup was cold as a matter of fact—and I did keep dinner waiting—but that's not what I have to say.
Mrs Plant. It does seem too much really for you to come in so late, sir, and then have to go out again after dinner. Your uncle, Dr. John, he never liked doing that.
Merton. I don't like it either. But that's what a doctor's life is like—to be sent for at all sorts of hours. It would be worse, you know, if I were never sent for at all.