Mrs. Ly. You were not at home on that evening—indeed, I don’t know when you are at home; always out—always running about—calling on this lady, and meeting that—receiving notes of assignation, and—but I’ll not endure it longer, Mr. Lynx—you may provoke me beyond the bounds of endurance, and then beware—
Lynx. Of what, dear?
Mrs. Ly. That is best known to myself.
Lynx. I am grateful for the information (rising) and now having discussed a very conjugal breakfast, I shall prepare for my morning walk.
Mrs. Ly. Is it possible that you can have no particular appointment? Have you had neither pink, nor blue note this morning?
Lynx. No, my love—Me miserabile dolorous homine—(a Two-penny Postman’s knock heard.)
Mrs. Ly. There’s the postman.
Lynx. So I hear.
Mrs. Ly. A letter for you, no doubt.—I thought it would be strange if a morning passed without the arrival of some mysterious billet for Mr. Lynx—(LYNX makes a movement towards the L. H. entrance, but resumes his seat)—Oh, Sir, don’t check your impatience—anticipate your servant, and run to the door, I beg.
Lynx. Certainly, my love—if you wish it.—(LYNX jumps up and runs off, L. H.)