—in the Bradshaw, miss? P'raps you ain't beyond the A. B. C.
Flora. (haughtily, snatching it back) No, thank you—I can manage myself.
Aurora. (aside) Can yer? I'll struggle with yer—I've learnt 'er symptoms, (as she goes out) Impudent 'ussy!—kissing the dear doctor. I'll struggle with yer, my gal!
(Exit Aurora.)
Flora. (looking at Doctor. who is absorbed reading letter) He's forgotten me already, (pause)
Doctor. (rubbing his hands) Good business! Call on you this evening, my dear lady—of course I will! I wish it was time now. (looks at watch)
Flora. (jealously) Who's that letter from, Jack? (kneels on sofa)
Doctor. A lady in Grosvenor Road.
Flora. How long have you known her?
Doctor. I've never seen her yet.