Dor. Hope you found her feeling fit?
Gan. She's fit enough! It's me.
Dor. What's the matter? (hands back matches)
Gan. Weal cutlet for supper—that's wot's the matter! (Dorvaston crosses up back to window. Gandy puts matches on mantelpiece) I've always done my dooty by mother, so I picked a bit, and then I went to bed and dreamt I was superintendin' my own funeral. Weal cutlet! (crosses up steps) Mother gets above herself.
Dor. (at window) Have you tried a drop of brandy?
Gan. I 'ave. (first step)
Dor. I should try another.
Gan. (second step) I mean to. (Dorvaston strolls out through the window and off R. Miss Pillenger enters L., Gandy giving way)
Miss P. Gandy, can you tell me what has happened to my shoes?