Joe. This will be our secret, Lydia. [He leans forward and looks out the French door, then turns to her impatiently.] What are you waiting for?
Lydia. Yes, Joe, our secret. Let me see. Mother was always very fond of John. [Joe makes a movement of pain, which Lydia does not see.] Oh, I have the very thing to read you. How strange! It sounds like a prophecy for you.
Joe. Read it. [Steps are heard in the garden. Joe looks up in alarm.] Who is that coming?
Lydia. Only Aunt Harriet.
[Harriet Wilde comes in through the French door.]
Harriet. I managed, Lydia, to some extent, to repair the damage which you——[Seeing Joe, she stops in surprise.] Actually, Joe downstairs! But I felt certain this morning, my dear, when you were arguing in that unheard-of fashion, that you must be better.
Lydia [hastily]. I don't think it has hurt him to come down, Aunt Harriet.
Harriet. On the contrary, I think it has done him good.
Joe. I should say it did, Aunt Harriet,—you don't know how much. [Again he looks toward the rear door.]
Harriet. What is it, Joe dear? Is the doctor coming again?