Mrs. Cod. Very well—but so hot. Phew! Pray open your windows and give me some air.
Coddle. No, don’t, don’t—I shall jump out of one of ’em, if you do. My inhuman wife would drag me from my warm fire-side this morning, although I told her there was an incipient easterly wind fluttering about. If it should blow in full force before I get home, I shall die.
Mrs. Cod. My dear love—’tis nothing but a fine refreshing breeze, and one that you ought to be very grateful for.
Coddle. I tell you, it is warmth that I want—warmth.
Mrs. Cod. And it’s air that I want—fine, fresh, blowing, whistling air.
Coddle. (Shuddering.)—Ugh—don’t, dear, you chill me to the bone to hear you.
Lynx. Be seated, I beg.—(crosses to L. H.)—Excuse me for a few minutes.
[Exit LYNX, L. H.
Mrs. Ly. (Aside.)—If he does go out, I’ll follow him; watch him, and enjoy his disappointment.
Cod. You have a window open somewhere, Mrs. Lynx—pray shut it. I sat in a draught last week, that so completely fixed my head on my shoulders, that I could’nt have moved it without turning my whole body at the same time, had it been to save my life.