Bea. The fact is, doctor, he’s a very naughty boy, and won’t take his medicine, though I always give it him with my own hands. He hasn’t taken any to-day.
Sir P. Oh, you won’t take your medicine?
Phil. It’s such horrid stuff; and somehow, I always feel worse after taking it.
Sir P. So much the better. Shows it’s doing you good.
Nor. (smiling) That’s all my eye, doctor. (Beatrice rises and goes towards R.U.D.)
Sir P. No, sir, it’s all his liver. Oblige me by not interrupting.
Bea. (up R.C.) Come, Lord Normantower. (Normantower rises, turns up and opens R.U.D. for Beatrice, who crosses in front of him. Philip rises and goes to L.) Sir Peter would like to be alone with Philip. (exit Beatrice R.U.D.)
Nor. (following—aside) And I’d like to be alone with Miss Derwent. (exit Normantower)
Phil. Now I am at your service. (arranges easy chair and sits)
Sir P. (goes to R. of table, L.C.) Have you made your will?