A Fool's Paradise Part 2

PHIL. You're not thinking of going already?

SIR P. Certainly not. Not going for ten minutes.

BEA. Surely you'll stay to lunch?

SIR P. Lunch, what d'you want with lunch? If you've an appet.i.te for dinner, thank heaven for it, and don't go and spoil it with lunch.

BEA. Do you ever eat?

SIR P. Eat? Like a cormorant.

PHIL. Drink?

SIR P. Like a fish. (_PHILIP reclines on sofa, R. of it_)

KATE. Sleep?

SIR P. Like a humming-top!

BEA. But you say, you oughtn't.

SIR P. Well? Do you never do what you oughtn't! I do. (_turns up to head of sofa and surveys PHILIP through pince-nez_)

BEA. Since Sir Peter is so pressed for time----

SIR P. Pressed for time? Not at all. (_getting behind sofa still looking at PHILIP_)

BEA. I understood you----

SIR P. You misunderstood me.

BEA. At any rate we'd better leave you with your patient. Come, Miss Derwent--(_bows--SIR PETER bows. Exit with KATE into grounds, C. to R._) (_SIR PETER turns up stage and watches them off, then comes down, moves chair R. of sofa towards PHILIP, and sits_)

SIR P. Well, what's the matter with you?

PHIL. Really, Sir Peter! That's what I want you to tell me.

SIR P. You have a high opinion of the medical profession. Do you suppose we can tell you anything, if you don't tell us first?

PHIL. I have always supposed so.

SIR P. Error, sir. You tell us everything we tell you. The only difference is, you tell us in English, and we tell you in Latin. You take a fee out of your pocket; we put one in ours.

PHIL. Well, doctor, I can't tell you what's the matter with me. I should very much like to know.

SIR P. Why! What has it to do with _you?_

PHIL. (_smiling_) A great deal unhappily.

SIR P. Vulgar fallacy. A patient's complaint concerns n.o.body but his doctor. (_feels pulse--watch in hand_)

PHIL. I have no energy. I don't take my usual interest in what goes on around me. One day I'm restless--another, lethargic. There's nothing particular the matter with me, but I seem to have no pleasure in existence; and instead of getting better, I get worse.

SIR P. (_shuts watch_) Happy at home? (_after feeling his hand_)

PHIL. Perfectly.

SIR P. How has your marriage answered?

PHIL. My wife is simply a treasure.

SIR P. (_dryly_) Oh! Any money difficulties?

PHIL. None. My father left me beyond reach of any trouble of that sort.

SIR P. Any pain? (_feeling his chest_)

PHIL. No.

SIR P. I see, Miss Derwent is still with you.

PHIL. And I hope, will remain. Beatrice wouldn't be without her for the world, and I think Mildred almost worships her. I can't sufficiently thank you for the introduction.

SIR P. How's your appet.i.te?

PHIL. It varies.

SIR P. I thought Miss Derwent would suit you. I picked her up at Guy's. She was a nurse there. Something about her struck me. Has it struck you?

PHIL. What?

SIR P. Her likeness to your father.

PHIL. Well, now you mention it, there is a likeness.

SIR P. Sleep pretty well?

PHIL. Too well. I'm always drowsy.

SIR P. So, altogether, you're quite a happy family?

PHIL. Yes, doctor. With more money than I know what to do with, heir to a name that is honoured wherever it is known, the husband of the dearest wife in the world, I sometimes think I am the happiest man on earth.

SIR P. Humph.

PHIL. You smile.

SIR P. I seem to have dropped into a little paradise.