(Doctor discovered alone, in frock coat and pyjama trousers, and just going to knock at bath-room door.)
Doctor. (hand up, listening) I must apologize to her! No, I simply daren't, (comes down C.) It was such an awful thing to do, I'll—I'll wait till Flo comes out to—to tell me how she is. (listens) No, I can't. I know! I'll go to her in my professional capacity! (puts on high hat, and does to door, just going to knock, looks at pyjamas) I can't go in these. Where are my trousers? (looks round) Of course, in there! (points to bathroom) I know! I'll go to ask for my trousers! (same Bus.—about to knock) No that's a silly idea! I'm losing my wits, (comes down C. and sits at writing table) Suppose something happens to her? There'll be an inquest, and it'll be all in the papers: "Brutal Conduct of a West End Doctor.." Oh, my cup of misery is full!
(Enter Aurora with telegram.)
Aurora. (to Doctor) Here you are, doctor—a telegram for you, sir. We are busy to-day!
Doctor. (opens telegram, starts, aside) From my father-in-law. (reads to himself) "Have learnt from local registrar your cowardly conduct in eloping with my daughter—am on my way to London to horsewhip you."
Aurora. (cheerily) Any answer, sir? (C.)
Doctor. (gloomily) No! It's nothing—only an appointment—I shan't keep it.
Aurora. Don't look so sad, sir.
(Music upstairs heard off, some appropriate music-hall tune.)
You go h'upstairs to the tea-fight. 'Ere's yer invite. (takes card off mantel) There's plenty to eat and drink and nothin' to pay; you done quite enough work for one day, sir.