WEDGECROFT.  He’s not sectarian.

TREBELL.  It’ll cost him his surplus.  When’ll he be up and about?

WEDGECROFT.  Not for a week or more.

TREBELL. [Knitting his brow.] And I’ve to deal with Cantelupe.  Curious beggar, Gilbert.

WEDGECROFT.  Not my sort.  He’ll want some dealing with over your bill as introduced to me.

TREBELL.  I’ve not cross-examined company promoters for ten years without learning how to do business with a professional high churchman.

WEDGECROFT.  Providence limited ... eh?

      They are interrupted by MRS. O’CONNELL’S appearance in the doorway. 
      She is rather pale, very calm; but there is pain in her eyes and her
      voice is unnaturally steady.

AMY.  Your maid told me to come up and I’m interrupting business....  I thought she was wrong.

TREBELL. [With no trace of self-consciousness.] Well ... how are you, after this long time?

AMY.  How do you do? [Then she sees WEDGECROFT and has to control a shrinking from him.] Oh!

WEDGECROFT.  How are you, Mrs. O’Connell?

TREBELL.  Kent is telephoning to Frances.  He knows where she is.

AMY.  How are you, Dr. Wedgecroft? [then to TREBELL.] Did you have a good holiday?  London pulls one to pieces wretchedly.  I shall give up living here at all.

WEDGECROFT.  You look very well.

AMY.  Do I!

TREBELL.  A very good holiday.  Sit down ... he won’t be a minute.

      She sits on the nearest chair.

AMY.  You’re not ill ... interviewing a doctor?

TREBELL.  The one thing Wedgecroft’s no good at is doctoring.  He keeps me well by sheer moral suasion.

      KENT comes out of his room and is off downstairs.

      TREBELL calls to him.

TREBELL.  Mrs. O’Connell’s here.

KENT.  Oh! [He comes back and into the room.] Miss Trebell hasn’t got there yet.

      WEDGECROFT has suddenly looked at his watch.

WEDGECROFT.  I must fly.  Good bye, Mrs. O’Connell.

AMY. [Putting her hand, constrained by its glove, into his open hand.] I am always a little afraid of you.

WEDGECROFT.  That isn’t the feeling a doctor wants to inspire.

KENT. [To TREBELL.] David Evans—­

TREBELL.  Evans?

KENT.  The reverend one ... is downstairs and wants to see you.

WEDGECROFT. [As he comes to them.] Hampstead Road Tabernacle ...  Oh, the mammon of righteousness!

TREBELL.  Shut up!  How long have I before Lord Charles—?

KENT.  Only ten minutes.

      MRS. O’CONNELL goes to sit at the big table, and apparently idly
      takes a sheet of paper to scribble on.

TREBELL. [Half thinking, half questioning.] He’s a man I can say nothing to politely.