Alma. I see. You take sermons medicinally.
Mrs. D. Good gracious, Dionysius! What have you there? (points to buttonhole)
Dr. A rose, my love—a simple rose. There is no evil in a simple rose.
Ned. Don’t you admire it?
Mrs. D. I don’t like the look of it at all. Where did you get it from?
Dr. Hem! hem! (fidgetting with the book; down, R.C.) A tendency to be too interrogative is the besetting weakness of the age we live in.
Mrs. D. Come, Dionysius, the truth!
Dr. It is to this undue yearning after truth that I attribute the prevailing scepticism.
Mrs. D. That isn’t answering my question.
Alma. (conquering her laughter, comes to his rescue) I’m sorry you don’t like it, Mrs. Dozey. Your husband thought you’d be so pleased with it. (gives Dr. Dozey a slight nudge)