Sir P. Your husband complained of his medicine. I thought I’d test it; so I took a dose.
Bea. (dismayed) You took it? (puts bottle on table)
Sir P. Yes. (looking at her)
Phil. A doctor take a dose of his own medicine!
Sir P. Only to my room. (advances to R. of table) Allow me to return you the glass. (gives goblet to Beatrice)
Phil. And you have tested it?
Sir P. Yes.
Bea. (prepared for the worst) With what result?
Sir P. With none. As I expected, just what I prescribed. (sits on sofa. Beatrice, intensely relieved, turns aside to hide her emotion, as if to put goblet on mantel-piece, L.)
Phil. And what did you prescribe, Sir Peter? What is this stuff you’re giving me?