PAMELA (crossing to TULLY). Ah, here he is, doctor.
DOCTOR (putting hat and bag on table L.C.). Is he awake?
PAMELA. Are you awake, dear?
TULLY. No! (PAMELA slaps his head)—er—yes—yes.
DOCTOR. Still sitting up, and after a bath too; it’s not wise.
PAMELA. We can’t keep him in bed; he’s so full of spirits.
DOCTOR. Yes, yes, I quite understand. Now, don’t distress yourself, my dear lady. (Gets chair from R. of table L.C. and places it on left of arm-chair.) You have your own medical man attending, of course.
PAMELA. Oh yes, doctor, of course. (Imitating doctor’s accent.) But I don’t think he understands the case, although he thinks it very serious.
(DOCTOR sits in chair. Loud knocks heard off L.)
DOCTOR. I think that must be Mr. Trippett.