Muriel. You have dropped your handkerchief again, Viola. Who is this coming out?
Viola. It is only Dr. Roberts. He has been to see Jane, the housemaid. She has been rather ill.
Muriel. I suppose she had a housemaid's knee.
Viola. You are quite wrong. She had writer's cramp, poor thing!
Muriel. How absurd, Viola! How are you, Dr. Roberts!
[Dr. Roberts has iron-grey hair and dark eyes. As he joins them Muriel leans down to pat a dog with all the graceful self-consciousness of youth. Dr. Roberts looks at Viola admiringly.
Viola. I hope poor Jane is better?
Dr. Roberts. Oh yes; she is quite out of the wood now, Mrs. Travers. In fact, I don't think I need see her anymore. (Muriel looks up.) Perhaps though, I had better just look in—say—on Thursday?
Viola. Do; and stay and have some tennis.
[Dr. Roberts accepts with evident enthusiasm, and takes leave with obvious regret.