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ARLEIGH
staggers on, hauling a long leash which thrashes about in his grasp. The barking is louder now
.
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH . Shall I bring him in, Miss?
    P EARL
[unable to conceal her delight]
. I’ve got you a puppy, Victor.
    V ICTOR . A puppy! Oh Pearl, that’s wonderful!
    Y OUNG F ARLEIGH . Coal black, he is, with a head so flat, you could balance a teacup.
    V ICTOR . Here boy! Here –
[suddenly struggling for breath]
.
    V ICTOR
can’t breathe
. D R R EID
goes for his medical bag
.
    D R R EID. Take it away! Flora –!
    F LORA
[rushing to assist
Y OUNG F ARLEIGH] . Out, out with it at once!
    The leash snaps out of
Y OUNG F ARLEIGH’S
hand and whips off. He and
F LORA
hurry after it
. D R R EID
injects
V ICTOR
with a hypodermic needle
. V ICTOR
goes
limp.
    P EARL . My God, Doctor. If you hadn’t been here …
    He offers her a cigarette. She takes it, he lights it. They smoke and regain composure
.
    D R R EID. I’ve never seen such a severe phobic reaction.
    P EARL . Phobic? But Doctor, a dog was Victor’s one desire as a child, and it was his childhood’s tragedy that Father refused him.
    D R R EID. Victor’s desire for a canine companion was thwarted by your father; and, rather than admit defeat –
    P EARL . Victor converted his desire into phobia.
    D R R EID. Just so, my dear; very good.
    P EARL
[flattered]
. Thank you, Doctor.
    D R R EID. The thwarted little boy evolved into the phobic man. Your poor father.
    P EARL . I should think Victor is in a better position to benefit from your sympathy.
    D R R EID . Forgive me, I mean only to say that Victor is also in the sole position to inherit Belle Moral and pass on Judge MacIsaac’s spotless name.
    P EARL . Naturally Victor will inherit the MacIsaac estate, but I am just as capable of perpetuating the MacIsaac name.
    D R R EID . You’ve always been spirited, Pearl. Your father’s one regret was that you were not born a son.
    P EARL . I was as good as any son.
    D R R EID . Ay and better, more’s the pity.
    P EARL . Victor’s not a bad fellow, he’s just a little … artistic.
    D R R EID . I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Victor may be an hysteric.
    P EARL . But hysteria is a woman’s disease.
    D R R EID . Right again, my dear, I’ve never heard of a case like his.
    P EARL . That’s our Victor for you. Always got to be an exception.
    D R R EID . If not an aberration.
[disturbed]
I wonder – is it possible – have I allowed the boy’s natural high spirits – and my affection for him – to mask what ought to have been, to me as a physician, clear signs?
    P EARL . What signs?
    D R R EID . The rapid oscillations betwixt melancholy and elation; his excessive sensuality; the obsession with his mother – not to mention the drink – and now this sudden aversion to animal food.
    P EARL . Victor is merely panting after the latest avant-garde craze. He was quoting Oscar Wilde just now.
    A beat
. P EARL
misinterprets his silence:
    Flambouyant Irishman. Dramatist. Sports a velvet cape –
    D R R EID . Has Victor, to your knowledge, evinced a special fondness for any male companions?
    P EARL . There’s his old school chum, Rhouridh MacGregor. But Victor has always been more at ease in the company of ladies.
    A beat
.
    Rhouridh’s not really a nihilist; just a sulky romantic. Decent chap. Carried a note into town for me just now.
    A beat
.
    Dr Reid, Victor’s passing fancy for Irishmen and and anti-vivisectionists –
    D R R EID . Anti-vivisectionists?
    P EARL . He considers himself an ally of the underdog.
    D R R EID. And an enemy of science. Not uncommon in the inebriate.
    P EARL . This morning it was impressionists, yesterday it was mesmerists, and tomorrow it will be Egyptologists. Though it points to a flighty nature, it hardly convicts him of hysteria.
    D R R EID. Admirably put. Might we not agree, however, that your brother is of a highly strung temperament.
[tender]
So, too, was your mother. Promise me you’ll keep a loving eye on