Bea. (comes to front of sofa) The brougham is quite at your service. (Kate bows and exit R.U.D. Normantower speaks through open door to her for a few moments)
Sir P. (C.) So Miss Derwent is leaving you?
Bea. She wished to go. She has always been allowed to do as she pleased here, and she has availed herself of the privilege.
Sir P. (looking at Beatrice) I see. (enter Philip L.D.)
Bea. Ah, here is Philip! (goes to him, affectionately)
Phil. Good morning, doctor. (coming down with his arm round Beatrice) Morning, Normantower. (goes to sofa and sits. Beatrice goes to back of table L.C. and sits)
Nor. Sorry to hear you’re not so well this morning. (comes down R. and sits at piano, facing Philip)
Phil. I ought to get better, if the best of doctors and the most devoted of nurses are of any use; but somehow I don’t.
Sir P. You get worse. (R. of sofa)
Phil. I shouldn’t mind so much, if I didn’t find my temper giving way—just now, I spoke quite crossly to poor little Mousey here (takes her hand)—and she was only carrying out your instructions. (to Sir Peter)