Phil. Yes—feeling another man. I’ve even been attending to business, with my solicitor. (Kate turns away up to R.C.) I must admit, Sir Peter’s treatment is justified by the result, but I can’t say I altogether relish it. (to Normantower) What do you think he’s giving me? (down, front of sofa)
Nor. What? (advances to C.)
Phil. Arsenic. (sitting on sofa)
Nor. Gracious me! (Beatrice comes down, and sits R. by piano)
Kate. (comes down, L. of Beatrice) Arsenic! That’s nothing! Many ladies take it.
Nor. Ladies take arsenic! (turning to Kate)
Kate. Don’t they, Mrs. Selwyn?
Bea. I should hope not, Miss Derwent.
Kate. You never heard of such a thing, of course?
Nor. What do they take it for?