Bea. No—just the right measure. See! (between table and sofa, holding up bottle)
Phil. How many doses are there left?
Bea. (with bottle) Only three more. (puts bottle on R. of table, and goes round behind to back of Philip) Now, drink it up without thinking about it; and if, like a good boy, you don’t leave a drop, you shall have a kiss afterwards, to take the taste away.
Phil. Well, I suppose I must. (raises glass to his lips—about to drink, Beatrice watches him eagerly)
Enter Johnson, R.U.D., quickly.
John. (up R.C.) Oh, if you please’m! (pants)
(Philip puts glass down on L. side of table)
Bea. (annoyed) What’s the matter, Johnson? (moves a little towards Johnson)
John. Miss Mildred—— (out of breath)
Phil. What of Miss Mildred?