MRS. C. I was under twenty, had been strictly and severely brought up—is it then to be wondered at that I yearned, I may say, panted for those gaieties, those amusements so natural to my age? But, alas! it was not to be, for while I was revelling in the anticipation of entering into what is called “Life,” he told me, and I repeat his own unfeeling selfish words, that he had had his whack. (WOODCOCK looks astonished) Whack! such a vulgar expression!
WOOD. Low! very low, indeed! a colonel, especially a colonel on horseback, ought to have been above it!
MRS. C. But that wasn’t all; he actually had the barbarity, on our very wedding day, to draw up what he called a programme of our matrimonial existence, (WOODCOCK still more astonished, suddenly remembers his own programme, which is lying on the table) in which I was condemned to the dull monotony of household duties.
WOOD. (aside) How very odd. I wonder if there was anything in it about killing buttons, and sewing on caterpillars.
MRS. C. While he, forsooth, was to enjoy himself; go out fishing, smoke his cigar, and take his nap in his arm chair. (angrily)
WOOD. (aside) This is a very singular coincidence; because, I’ll take my oath, I never saw Carver’s programme! (he has gradually approached the table, and, watching his opportunity, suddenly snatches the paper off it and crams it into his pocket)
MRS. C. What’s the matter?
WOOD. Nothing!
MRS. C. But that wasn’t all; he actually expressed his intention of laying aside his splendid regimentals—those regimentals that I loved so much, and wearing nothing but those odious abominations called morning gowns for the remainder of his existence. (here WOODCOCK, watching his opportunity, opens table drawer, and thrusts in the parcel containing the morning gowns, then slams the drawer)
MRS. C. What is the matter?