EMMY [unmoved] Well, will you see Mr Cutler Walpole? He dont want
a cure: he only wants to congratulate you.

RIDGEON. Of course. Shew him up. [She turns to go]. Stop. [To Sir
Patrick] I want two minutes more with you between ourselves. [To
Emmy] Emmy: ask Mr. Walpole to wait just two minutes, while I
finish a consultation.

EMMY. Oh, he'll wait all right. He's talking to the poor lady.
[She goes out].

SIR PATRICK. Well? what is it?

RIDGEON. Dont laugh at me. I want your advice.

SIR PATRICK. Professional advice?

RIDGEON. Yes. Theres something the matter with me. I dont know
what it is.

SIR PATRICK. Neither do I. I suppose youve been sounded.

RIDGEON. Yes, of course. Theres nothing wrong with any of the
organs: nothing special, anyhow. But I have a curious aching: I
dont know where: I cant localize it. Sometimes I think it's my
heart: sometimes I suspect my spine. It doesnt exactly hurt me;
but it unsettles me completely. I feel that something is going to
happen. And there are other symptoms. Scraps of tunes come into
my head that seem to me very pretty, though theyre quite
commonplace.