Benedick.
Really, my dear, I can hardly trust myself to characterise it in—er—fitting terms. [Rings bell. Enter Page.] When is the Duke expected?
Page.
In half-an-hour, Sir.
Benedick.
Thank you.
[Exit Page.
Beatrice.
[Pouting.] You needn’t have rung. I could have told you that.
Benedick.