Henry Arthur Jones.

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REESE LIBRARY

OF THK

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

Deceived /J^^iL. , 1900 .

Accession No. &0& 6 Class No.



THE PHYSICIAN



THE PHYSICIAN



AN ORIGINAL PLAY IN FOUR ACTS



BY

HENRY ARTHUR JONES

AUTHOR OF

'MICHAEL AND HIS LOST ANGEL,' 'THE CRUSADERS,' 'THE CASE

OF REBELLIOUS SUSAN,' 'jUDAH,' 'THE MIDDLEMAN,' 'THE
TRIUMPH OF THE PHILISTINES,' ' THE DANCING GIRL,'

'THE TEMPTER,' 'THE ROGUE'S COMEDY,' 'THE

MASQUERADERS,' 'THE LIARS,' 'THE GOAL,'

'THE MANCEUVRES OF JANE,' ETC.




3Lonbon
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY



All rights reserved



<f -3, 6, O

Copyright in the United States of America.



Produced by Mr. Charles Wyndham at the Criterion
Theatre, London, on 25th March 1897.



PERSONS REPRESENTED

DR. LEWIN CAREY.
WALTER AM PHI EL.
REVEREND PEREGRINE HINDE.
DR. BROOKER.
STEPHEN GURDON. A
JAMES HEBBINGS.
JOHN DIBLEY.
VICCARS.

EDANA HINDE.
. LADY VALERIE CAMVILLE.
MRS. BOWDEN.
MRS. DIBLEY.
LOUISA PACK.
MARAH GURDON, a child.
SAUNDERS, Lady Valerie's maid.
LIZZIE, the Vicarage servant.



ACT I

SCENE CONSULTING-ROOM AT DR. LEWIN CAREY'S,
39 CAVENDISH SQUARE.

(Three months pass.}

ACT II

SCENE SAINT EDANA'S WELL AND CHURCH, FONTLEAS.
(Six months pass.)

ACT III

SCENE THE ABBOT'S KITCHEN, FONTLEAS.
(Nine months pass.)

ACT IV

SCENE THE VICARAGE DRAWING-ROOM, FONTLEAS.

Time. PRESENT DAY.



The following is a copy of the original play-bill of
" The Physician."

CRITERION THEATRE.



Lessee and Manager MR. CHARLES WYNDHAM.

On Thursday, 25th March 1897, for the first time,
A new Play of modern life, in Four Acts, entitled

THE PHYSICIAN
By HENRY ARTHUR JONES

. Mr. Charles Wyndham.
. Mr. Alfred Bishop.
. Mr. T. B. Thalberg.

Mr. Leslie Kenyon.
. Mr. J. G. Taylor.
. Mr. Kenneth Douglas.
. Mr. A. E. George.
. Mr. F. H. Tyler.
. Mr. F. Vigay.

Miss Marion Terry.

Miss E. Vining.

Miss Carlotta Addison.

Miss Jocelyn.
. Miss Valli Valli.

Miss M. Clayton.
. Miss D. Fellowes.

Miss Mary Moore.



DR. LEWIN CAREY

REV. PEREGRINE HINDE

WALTER AM PHI EL

DR. BROOKER

STEPHEN GURDON

JAMES HEBBINGS .

JOHN DIBLEY

VICCARS

POSTMAN

LADY VALERIE CAMVILLE

MRS. BOWDEN

MRS. DIBLEY

LOUISA PACK

MARAH

LIZZIE ....

SAUNDERS .

EDANA HINDE



ACT I

CONSULTING-ROOM AT DR. LEWIN CAREY'S,
39 CAVENDISH SQUARE.

( Three months pass. )



THE PHYSICIAN ix

ACT II

SAINT EDANA'S WELL AND CHURCH AT FONTLEAS
(Walter Hann).

(Szx months pass.)

ACT III

THE ABBOT'S KITCHEN, FONTLEAS (Walter Hann).
(Ten months pass.)

ACT IV

THE VICARAGE, FONTLEAS.

Time. THE PRESENT.



There will be an interval of about ten minutes between Acts I. , II. ,
III., and about five minutes between Acts III. and IV.



Matinees of "The Physician," Wednesday, 3ist March,
Saturday, 3rd April, and every following Saturday.



Stage Manager Mr. PERCY HUTCHISON.

Musical Director Mr. VICTOR HOLLAENDER.

Acting Manager and Treasurer Mr. E. HARVEY.




ACT I

SCENE CONSULTING-ROOM AT DR. LEWIN CAREY'S,
CAVENDISH SQUARE, A SUBSTANTIALLY FURNISHED

ROOM, SUCH AS WOULD BE USED BY A LONDON

PHYSICIAN IN GOOD PRACTICE.

Door down stage L. Door at back L. Fireplace at
back R. Windows R. Book- cases *, containing
medical works, round the room. One or two good
oil paintings.

TIME : late on an April afternoon.

Enter door at back, VICCARS, DR. CAREY'S butler,
showing in WALTER AMPHIEL. AMPHIEL is a
pale, thin, and very delicate -looking man about
thirty ; striking, earnest features, with a winning,
lovable expression ; rather weak mouth ; restless,
furtive eyes with a hunted look in them. His
ordinary manner is absent, dreamy, self-absorbed,
and there is a strangeness and indecision in his
movements and speech, but this at times gives place
to fits of feverish energy.



"



2 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

VICCARS. Dr. Carey is attending a consultation,
sir, but I expect him back shortly.
AMPHIEL. I'll wait.
VICCARS. What name shall I say ?
AMPHIEL. My name doesn't matter. I'll wait.
(Exit VICCARS at back.)
(AMpmEL/urtivefy watches VICCARS off, and
as soon as the door has closed, goes
quickly to the book-shelves, runs his eye
eagerly over them as if searching for
something, takes out a particular book,
looks at index, opens it at a certain
page, sits down, reads eagerly. A short
pause?)

Enter VICCARS at back, showing in DR. BROOKER, a
middle-aged man, brisk, genial, robust ; sangtiine
complexion ; a little stout, a little bald.

(As BROOKER enters, AMPHIEL shows recogni-
tion and a little embarrassment, hiding
his head behind his book.}

BROOKER (entering). Thank you, Viccars. Dr.
Carey does expect me, doesn't he ?

VICCARS. Yes, sir. He left word if you came
that he'd be back almost at once. Shall I get you
anything after your journey, sir ?

BROOKER. No, thank you. Well, just a cup of
tea, if you'll be so good. (Exit VICCARS at back}



ACT i THE PHYSICIAN 3

BROOKER (sitting down, catches sight of AMPHIEL'S
face as he looks up furtively from his book). I beg par-
don, my name is Brooker Dr. Brooker of Folkestone.
I've had the pleasure of meeting you somewhere ?

AMPHIEL (with slight embarrassment). I think not
I don't remember you.

BROOKER (still looking at him). I suppose I was
mistaken. Your face seemed familiar to me.

(A little pause.)

AMPHIEL. Very interesting place, a doctor's con-
sulting-room ?

BROOKER. H'm ! not very to the doctor.

AMPHIEL. This room, for instance. How many
strange stories and confessions these walls must have
listened to ! How many men and women must have
entered that door with hope in their hearts, and
received their death sentence, sitting perhaps where I
am sitting now !

BROOKER. Oh, don't speak of us as if we were
bloodthirsty hanging judges. Say rather how many
men have entered that door with despair in their
hearts and gone out cheered and comforted !

AMPHIEL. Dr. Carey is marvellously skilful in
certain certain nervous diseases, isn't he ?

BROOKER. He's marvellously skilful in all kinds
of diseases. He has made a great reputation with
nerve diseases, simply because this is a nervous age.
Everybody is suffering from neurasthenia to-day.
Except myself, thank God !



4 THE PHYSICIAN ACT I

VICCARS re-enters L. with tea on salver, which he brings
to DR. BROOKER. AMPHIEL puts book on table,
open.

BROOKER (looking steadily at AMPHIEL). Surely I
didn't you consult me one Sunday evening three or
four years ago ?

AMPHIEL. No, no, I've never met you. (To
VICCARS.) Dr. Carey hasn't returned. (Takes out
watch.) I'll call again by and by.

(Exit AMPHIEL at back rather hurriedly?)

VICCARS (at door, looking after him, calling off).
The door, Thomas.

(Meantime BROOKER has taken up the book
which AMPHIEL has put down. He
looks at the page, raises his eyebrows,
puts book on table again, leaving it open?)

BROOKER (taking tea). And how have you been
all this time, Viccars ?

VICCARS. I've kept pretty tolerable, I thank you, sir.

BROOKER. And Dr. Carey?

VICCARS. About as usual, sir.

BROOKER. He wrote me rather an urgent letter.
I thought perhaps something was wrong. (VICCARS
does not reply. There is a short pause.) He has had
no trouble, no misfortune, no loss ?

VICCARS. No, sir. At least, none that it's any
business of mine to take notice of.

BROOKER. You're right, Viccars. Of course, I



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 5

didn't wish you to speak of Dr. Carey's affairs. He's
quite well ?

VICCARS. In body, I believe, quite well, sir.
Though, of course, the journey to Egypt and his
attendance on the Pasha have fagged him a good deal.

BROOKER. You went with him, Viccars ?

VICCARS. Yes, sir. I had that honour. Dr.
Carey waited on the Pasha night and day, and I
waited on Dr. Carey. It was wonderful to watch him.

BROOKER. How wonderful ?

VICCARS. He seemed determined to keep the life
in the old fellow. I don't know what it is about Dr.
Carey, but he seems to have got that in him well, I
can't describe it but if once Dr. Carey makes up his
mind that a certain patient shall live, it seems more
than that patient dare do to die, and it's more than
Death dare do to lay hands on him.

BROOKER. And Death did not lay hands on the
Pasha ?

VICCARS. No, sir. We pulled the old chap
through and left him happy, and comparatively rollick-
ing, so to speak, with his four wives. I think I heard
the carriage. (Looking out of window^ Yes, here
is Dr. Carey. (Crossing to door at back.)

VICCARS opens door. DR. CAREY enters.

(Exit VICCARS.)

(DR. LEWIN CAREY is a man of from forty-
five to fifty. He has a strong intellectual



6 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

face; sensitive mobile features, with fre-
quently changing play of humour and
melancholy ; kind penetrating eyes ; a
tender caressing voice ; calm, restrained,
professional manner. He comes very
affectionately to BROOKER, takes his
hand, holds it some moments without
speaking?)

DR. C. My dear fellow, I knew you'd come.
BROOKER. Why, of course. I didn't understand
your letter.

DR. C. I want to consult you about myself.

(BROOKER looks astonished. DR. CAREY
motions him to a seat. During the
following scene BROOKER is seated. DR.
CAREY sometimes sits, sometimes stands,
sometimes walks about.)
BROOKER. What's the matter ?
DR. C. Everything. Nothing. You'll call it
neurasthenia, and you'll give me some placebo, which
I shan't believe in, and which I shan't take.

BROOKER. But I'm only a country practitioner.
The best man for nerves is Lewin Carey, 39 Cavendish
Square. Why don't you go to him ?

DR. C. I have, but he only laughs at me and
says: "Physician, heal thyself." That's the one
thing that rings constantly in my ears day and night,
"Physician, heal thyself! Physician, heal thyself."
I can't, Brooker.



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 7

BROOKER. Go on. Tell me all.

DR. C. My dear old fellow, have patience with
me! The last fifteen years, while you've been
comfortably ploughing and whistling on your way
amongst rural measles and accouchements, I've stood
here an open receptacle for all the nervous diseases
of the age to be poured into. And the mischief is,
Brooker, I'm so sympathetic, I've caught them all.

BROOKER. You're a little overworked.

DR. C. No, it's not that. I'm just at the prime
of life with a splendid constitution. I'm getting to
the top of my profession, I'm richer than my needs,
I'm honoured, feted, envied and yet, by God,
Brooker, I don't believe there's in any London slum,
or jail, or workhouse, a poor wretch with such a
horrible despair in his heart as I have to-day.

BROOKER. You know the causes of nervous
breakdown. What past excess is calling on you for
payment ?

DR. C. My youth was pretty much about the
average. I don't pretend to justify it. I don't
pretend to regret it. If any past excess is calling on
me for payment now, it's excess of work rather than
excess of pleasure.

BROOKER. And since your youth? (Pause.} Is
there any woman in this business, Carey ?

DR. C. I've had an attachment for some years
past. I won't tell you her name, though you can
easily learn it if you care to inquire. Seven years ago



8 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

I met one of the most beautiful women in London.
She had married a blackguard, who neglected her.
And certainly she had as much excuse as ever a
woman had for forming other ties. Her husband has
lived abroad for years, and practically doesn't exist.
I go out very little, as you know, but she goes a great
deal into society.

BROOKER. And what has society said to this ?

DR. C. Society, with its perfect good -nature, its
perfect tact and sympathy with a genuine attachment
such as ours, has nodded and smiled, and whispered
no doubt, but has never openly said one word against
her.

BROOKER. This attachment does it continue ?

DR. C. No. For some time I have felt that she
has cared for me less and less. When I came back
from Egypt a month ago I found a letter from her,
breaking it off.

BROOKER. And you've not seen her ?

DR. C. No, she's travelling abroad. I've written
to her several times begging her to return, but she
hasn't replied.

BROOKER. And so you're steadily breaking your
heart for this woman ?

DR. C. I miss her terribly hourly. She was
such a delightful companion. But though I've loved
her deeply, and she has loved me after a fashion
I've never rested in her love. I've always known her
to be a coquette a flaming, intellectual coquette



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 9

whose very attractions make it impossible for her to
be constant. Good God, Brooker ! are any of us
constant to anybody, or to anything, or to ourselves
even our worst selves ? Don't let me maunder any
more about her. She isn't the matter with me or if
she is, she's not all the matter with me. I go deeper
than that.

BROOKER. What is the matter with you ?

DR. C. I tell you I've caught the disease of our
time, of our society, of our civilisation.

BROOKER. What's that ?

DR. C. Middle age. Disillusionment. My youth's
gone. My beliefs are gone. I enjoy nothing. I
believe in nothing.

BROOKER. There's no cure for lost youth, I'm
afraid. But for lost belief

DR. C. The cure for that is to turn churchwarden
and go round with the plate on Sundays, I suppose.

BROOKER. Don't sneer at us poor fools who do
still believe in something.

DR. C. Sneer at you ! I envy you. Belief !
That's the placebo I want. That would cure me.

BROOKER. Don't you believe in your work ?

DR. C. My work means nothing to me. Success
means nothing to me. I cure people with a grin and
a sneer. I keep on asking myself, "To what end?
To what end ? "

BROOKER. Come and dress, let's get an early
dinner and go to a music hall.



io THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

DR. C. That's your placebo, is it ?

BROOKER. Surely, Carey, you must know there's
nothing the matter with you.

DR. C. Don't I tell you there's nothing the matter
with me, and that I can endure it no longer. Brooker,
my practice is a very valuable one. I want you to
take it up and carry it on.

BROOKER. You're not in earnest ?

DR. C. Indeed I am. We'll talk it over at dinner.
Don't argue with me, I've made up my mind.

BROOKER. And you what will you do ?

DR. C. I don't know.

BROOKER. Where will you go ?

DR. C. I don't know.

BROOKER. Surely you have some plan ?

DR. C. None in this world, except to walk out of
that door and let it clang for ever on my present self.
I want a new impulse, a new outlook on life no,
I want a new life itself. I may go to India. I'm
interested in these cholera experiments.

BROOKER. To what end ?

DR. C. Ah, to what end? To save life. To
what end ? I can't tell you. But I've still got the
healing instinct strong within me in spite of what I've
told you; if any poor devil suffering from some
mortal disease were to come in at that door and ask
me to help him, I should fling myself heart and soul
into his case and fight like a tiger to pull him through.
And all the time my grinning, sneering, second self



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN u

would be standing beside me and asking me "To
what end? To what end?" (With a gesture of
weariness and despair?) Let me get out of this,
Brooker. Come in as soon as you can and set me
free.

Enter VICCARS at back> with lady's visiting card on
tray, which he brings to DR. CAREY. DR. CAREY
takes card) shows great delight.

VICCARS. Lady is waiting in the next room, sir.

(Going off at back.}

DR. C. (in a low tone to BROOKER, showing great
feeling). It's she. She has come back to me !

BROOKER. I've a letter or two to write. Perhaps
Viccars will show me to my room.

VICCARS (at door at back). This way, sir. (Exit.}
DR. C. (with great feeling). I was wrong, Brooker.
I care for her more than I know. It's her absence
that has ailed me. I shall be well now.

(BROOKER wrings CAREY'S hand with great
cordiality^ and exit at back. DR.
CAREY goes to door L., opens it.)
DR. C. Val !

Enter door at back LADY VALERIE CAMVILLE, a hand-
some woman about thirty-three ; bright red hair,
large brown eyes with a merry twinkle ; high fore-
head ; rather large mouth with great expression ; a



12 THE PHYSICIAN ACT I

face with beauty, intellectuality, and humour, with-
out spirituality. DR. CAREY goes to her with the
utmost tenderness and respect, kisses her hand softly
two or three times, then holds it tenderly, looking
at her with great affection.

DR. C. You got my letters ?

LADY V. Yes. ( Withdraws her hand.) You
begged me at least to see you and say " Good-bye."
Your last letter was so piteous, I couldn't help coming.
(Holding out hand in the frankest way.) Good-bye.

DR. C. (cut to the quick). You've not come to
say that ? (Doesn't take her hand.)

LADY V. Indeed I have. If you remember we
made a compact at the beginning of our friend-
ship

DR. C. Our friendship ! We were friends, were
we not ?

LADY V. We were very good friends indeed, and
we very sensibly agreed that the moment we began to
feel the least little bit tired of each other, the moment
boredom supervened, we would have the courage to
own the truth and part.

(Again offering hand, which he doesrit take.)

DR. C. ( piteous ly). Are you tired of me, Val?

LADY V. Not at the present moment. Altogether,
I think you bear the test of constant companionship
better than most men would. (Smiling at him. ) Still,
my dear Lewin, don't let us blink the horrible fact



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 13

that boredom has supervened. That Sunday at
Henley last year !

DR. C. Oh, a wet English Sunday !

LADY V. No amount of British climate or British
Sunday can excuse a man for treating a woman as if
she had been married to him for a dozen years !
Besides, boredom has supervened on other occasions.

DR. C. (jealously}. Val you've not you've not
met any one else ?

LADY V. Ah ! you shouldn't ask me that !

DR. C. Why not ?

LADY V. Because you know I should tell the
biggest of big fibs, rather than give you pain.

DR. C. Then you have ?

LADY V. No. I've only thought matters over.
(Again offering hand.) Good-bye.

DR. C. I can't say it. What reason is there for
us to part ?

LADY V. Our friendship must end some day and
somehow. Think. How would you wish it to end ?
In a yawn ? In a squabble ? In a scandal ?

DR. C. I should wish it to end in death.

LADY V. Would you ? Now that's the very last
way in which I should wish it to end. At least, if it's
my death you mean.

DR. C. Why not the scandal ?

LADY V. (looks at him questioningly). You'd be
obliged to marry me !

DR. C. Obliged ? Dare you face it ?



I 4 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

LADY V. Gracious, no! To sink into social. ex-
tinction in a bog of newspaper mud ! No, trust me,
this is our fine artistic moment for bidding each other
adieu. We part with the pleasantest memories of the
past, with the best wishes for the future, and with just
the merest shade of regret (looks at him roguishly^
sighs) at least, on my side.

DR. C. On your side there will be the merest shade
of regret. On my side there will be despair.

LADY V. And so there should be ! Anything less
than despair for some months, or at least weeks,
would be uncomplimentary to me.

DR. C. (coming to her passionately). Val, don't tor-
ture me ! I can't let you go. (About to clasp her.)

LADY V. (shaking her head, warning him off with
her forefinger). I leave for Scotland to-night.

DR. C. Scotland ! What for ?

LADY V. To escape boredom. I see it still
hovering, ready to close impenetrably round us the
moment we take up our old lives.

DR. C. Why should we take up our old lives?
Val, take up a new life with me from to-day from
this moment.

LADY V. New life ! How ? Where ?

DR. C. Anywhere ! I'm leaving London, giving
up my practice

LADY V. My dear Lewin, what strange freak is
this?

DR. C. It's no freak. If I stay in London I shall



ACT i THE PHYSICIAN 15

come to some miserable end. I shall either go mad,
or commit suicide, or become a fashionable London
physician. I don't want to do either. I've got thirty
good years of life in front of me.

LADY V. And how do you propose to spend
them?

DR. C. In work. In duty.

LADY V. Duty ? H'm ! That's some article for
the consumption of the great middle classes, isn't it ?
Like the things they get at Whiteley's and the Stores.
I'm sure it isn't for the elect for you and me. What
work ? What duty ?

DR. C. I should like to go to India and thor-
oughly work out these cholera experiments.

LADY V. And to boredom add ghastliness. I
don't want to go microbe-hunting in India. I like
big game.

DR. C. Very well. We'll travel, go where you
please, do what you please. Only (very piteously)
don't leave me, Val. These last few weeks since
you've been away I've had a horrible time. I couldn't
tell what ailed me. When I knew that you had come
back, my heart began to beat again. My hand
trembled when I took your card just now, and when
you came into the room, didn't you see, I could
scarcely speak for joy ?

LADY V. (a little touched). My poor Lewin, I
didn't know you cared so much for me.

DR. C. I didn't know it myself till I had lost you.



1 6 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

Val, come back to me. I cling to you ! You are all
I have in the world ! Take me, do what you please
with me ! Make me at least believe in you ! What
is it you want ? Is it love ? I'll give you all I have
to the last drain of my heart. Is it marriage ? I'll
face the disgrace with you, shelter you from it so far
as I can. Val, I offer you my heart and my name
with all the respect and worship of my nature, (Long
pause.) What do you say?

(She has listened with great attention and is a
little moved by his passionate pleading,
stands as if undecided, then looks at him
pityingly, sighs, speaks in a firm matter-
of-fact, but not unkind tone.)

LADY V. I'm very sorry. But it must be adieu
and now.

DR. C. Don't leave me, Val.
LADY V. I must be in Scotland to-morrow morn-
ing, and I must catch the train.
DR. C. Don't leave me, Val.
LADY V. What a heavenly attitude of melancholy
you have !

DR. C. Don't leave me, Val.
LADY V. Alas, poor dear ! I must ! (Blows him
a kiss.) Good-bye. (Exiti..)

(She closes the door after her. He stands,
looks after her, his hands tightly clasped
in front of him ; his features hardening,
his eyes fixed, Ms whole attitude one of



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 17

great mental anguish changing into de-
spair. A long pause. VICCARS slowly
and timidly opens door at back and
looks in.)

VICCARS. Are you engaged, sir ?
DR. C. (relaxing his strained attitude with an effort,
speaking in an intensely calm tone). No. What is it ?
VICCARS (enters, brings in card on salver). A
young lady says she appointed to meet her father here
at half-past five. He hasn't come, and she wishes to
know if you could see her for a few minutes.
DR. C. Show her in.

(VICCARS goes, leaves door open. DR. CAREY
walks listlessly across the room. Re-
enter VICCARS, at back, showing in
EDANA HINDE, a bright, eager girl, not
quite twenty, prettily dressed, but a little
countrified.")

VICCARS. Miss Hinde. (.#// VICCARS.)

EDANA. I'm so sorry to trouble you. My father
arranged to meet me here, but he has gone to some
old bookshops, and I daresay he has forgotten all
about me.

DR. C. Will you be seated? (She sits.) What
can I do for you ?

EDANA. I hardly know how to tell you. You
won't think it very strange of me I wanted to ask
you about somebody else (A pause.)

DR. C. Go on.

c



i8 THE PHYSICIAN ACT i

EDANA (a little embarrassed}. His life is so valu-
able. You must have heard his name Mr. Walter
Amphiel.

DR. C. Amphiel? Amphiel? Oh yes, the man
who is making all this stir about the temperance
question.

EDANA. He is giving his life to it.

DR. C. He is a friend of yours ?

EDANA. Yes. (Pause.} I am to be his wife.

DR. C. And you wish ?

EDANA. He gives himself to the work night and
day. He is killing himself for others.

DR. C. Then he is unjust to himself and to
you.

EDANA. Oh, it doesn't matter for me. But I
want his life to be spared.

DR. C. And you wish me to see him and persuade
him to give it up ?

EDANA. Oh no, he wouldn't give up the work !
And I wouldn't have him ! We have both put our
hands to the plough. And (very glowingly) I wish
nothing better for either of us than to die for our
cause if need were. (He is looking at her with interest
and a little astonishment.} I beg pardon, you don't
understand me.

DR. C. I don't quite understand what you wish
me to do.

EDANA. I want you to see him and advise him
how to take care of his health.



ACT I THE PHYSICIAN 19

DR. C. Certainly. Send him to me to-morrow
morning.

EDANA. He won't come. He has a great dislike


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