Aurora. Detective camera, sir, an' 'e's comin' back dressed up like 'er.
Doctor. (smiling) Who is?
Aurora. 'Im as 'is friend calls "Merry Andrew." sir.
Doctor. (rubbing his hands) Oh, is he? It's my profession to cure people, and I'll cure you, Master Merry Andrew. of this insane love of practical joking, (thumps on table)
Aurora. Do, sir, I don't believe there's no ailment, male nor female, what you couldn't not cure, sir.
Doctor. Thank you, Aurora. (crosses to fire)
Aurora. Excuse the liberty I've took, sir, but I thought I'd best warn you, sir, lest when 'e come dressed up, you might think it was—it was she—and—and be disappointed, (half crying)
Doctor. So I should have been—very disappointed. (looking at picture) Thank you very much.
Aurora. Still gazin' at 'is fancy! The time 'as come. It's now or never—I'll struggle with yer! (gets on chair, looks over into mirror, takes combs from pocket, puts them on, pauses) I do 'ope Tupper was wrong; if 'e's gorn and married 'er, I'm the miserablest girl in all Pimlico—South Belgraviar, I mean, (jumps down)
Doctor. (turning round and seeing her) What on earth are you doing? Do you want to bring the house down?