Dick. Certainly. Give me an appetite for dinner. (to Ned) What time do you dine?
Alma. (going out with Sir Humphrey) Doctor, won’t you come with us? (making eyes at him)
Dr. (with alacrity) Surely!
Mrs. D. (crosses, R., checking him) Dionysius!
Sir H. (to Alma) Take my arm, Mrs. Blake.
Alma. I like the doctor. (taking Sir Humphrey’s arm)
Sir H. An old schoolfellow.
Alma. He’s going to “nurture” me. Isn’t it kind of him? (Exit with Sir Humphrey, through window, off R.)
Dick. (following with Ned) Sorry I lost your comedy. If a romantic drama would be any compensation, or a tragedy in seven acts, or a historical pageant in thirteen tableaux, come to the theatre and take your choice. (Exit with Ned through window, C., off L.)
Dr. (crosses, C.) My love, you are in error.