JOHN. I beg your pardon.
(TULLY moves round to back of arm-chair on left of MAMIE.)
TRIPPETT (sits and preparing to write in notebook). Now then, Mr.—John Ayers, isn’t it?
JOHN. Yes, John Ayers.
(TRIPPETT writes.)
Oh, my back! Oh!
MAMIE. Poor John!
TULLY. Poor John!
TRIPPETT (looks at TULLY, then writing again). Tell me, Mr. Ayers, are you married?