Evans
[Guiltily embarrassed]
Yes—sure—I’m a damn fool! Excuse me!
[There is the noise of steps from the hall and Doctor Edmund Darrell enters. He is twenty-seven, short, dark, wiry, his movements rapid and sure, his manner cool and observant, his dark eyes analytical. His head is handsome and intelligent. There is a quality about him, provoking and disturbing to women, of intense passion which he has rigidly trained himself to control and set free only for the objective satisfaction of studying his own and their reactions; and so he has come to consider himself as immune to love through his scientific understanding of its real sexual nature. He sees Evans and Marsden, nods at Marsden silently, who returns it coldly, goes to the table and taking a prescription pad from his pocket, hastily scratches on it]
Marsden
[Thinking sneeringly]
Amusing, these young doctors! . . . perspire with the effort to appear cool! . . . writing a prescription . . . cough medicine for the corpse, perhaps! . . . good-looking? . . . more or less . . . attractive to women, I dare say. . . .
Darrell
[Tears it off—hands it to Evans]
Here, Sam. Run along up the street and get this filled.
Evans
[With relief]
Sure. Glad of the chance for a walk.
[He goes out, rear]
