COX. Did you? Then I do forgive you.
[Exit MRS. B.
(Looking at letter.) “Margate.” The post-mark decidedly says “Margate.”
BOX. Oh, doubtless a tender epistle from Penelope Ann.
COX. Then read it, sir (handing letter to BOX).
BOX. Me, sir?
COX. Of course. You don’t suppose I’m going to read a letter from your intended?
BOX. My intended! Pooh! It’s addressed to you—C, O, X!
COX. Do you think that’s a C? It looks to me like a B.
BOX. Nonsense! Fracture the seal!