Mrs. S. Oh goodness, what shall I do?
Mrs. N. Don’t excite her, young woman! Lie down, dearie.
Mrs. S. (Indignantly.) I am perfectly well.
Mrs. N. Indeed you are not, you are dreadfully flushed! Are ye sick at the stummick? You must lie down. (Leads Mrs. S., resisting, to sofa.) Alice, arrange the cushions. (Just as they get her comfortably located.)
Enter hastily R., Slightly followed by Dr. Gagg. Latter puts pill bag on table and goes to patient.
Alice. (Aside.) Now the fat’s in the fire.
Bob. Are you better, darling?
Mrs. S. (Faintly.) I think so. I didn’t need Dr. Gagg, dear.
Dr. Nothing like precaution, madam. (Feels her pulse.) Some fever. Any vertigo?