Bea. Do you ever eat?
Sir P. Eat? Like a cormorant.
Phil. Drink?
Sir P. Like a fish. (Philip reclines on sofa, R. of it)
Kate. Sleep?
Sir P. Like a humming-top!
Bea. But you say, you oughtn’t.
Sir P. Well? Do you never do what you oughtn’t! I do. (turns up to head of sofa and surveys Philip through pince-nez)
Bea. Since Sir Peter is so pressed for time——
Sir P. Pressed for time? Not at all. (getting behind sofa still looking at Philip)