WOOD. Nothing.
MRS. C. (going to table, and standing on the side opposite to WOODCOCK, who is eyeing the remaining two parcels with anxiety) But that wasn’t all! (banging her hand on one of the parcels to WOODCOCK’S great alarm) Hanging up his noble helmet in the hall, and giving his military boots to his servant, he inserted his head into one of those atrocities called smoking caps, and his feet into a pair of embroidered slippers. (during the above, she has kept on banging the paper parcels) Yes; embroidered, no doubt, by some unhappy creature he had professed to love as he did me. (walking away in an excited manner—WOODCOCK immediately opens table drawer, and thrusts in one of the parcels, there not being room for the other, WOODCOCK hastily thrusts it up under his waistcoat in front)
MRS. C. What is the matter?
WOOD. Nothing!
MRS. C. Such, Marmy, was my married life for twenty years. Anxious, therefore, that Caroline should escape my wretched fate, I resolved to find her a husband who, like herself, had never enjoyed what is called “Life.”
WOOD. And you pitched upon me!
MRS. C. I did; every enquiry I made about you convinced me you were the very man I was looking for. “He is no second Carver,” said I, “he is not satiated with the pleasures, the gaieties, the amusements of the world,” said I, “he has never even tasted them,” said I, “and therefore,” said I, “he’ll be the more ready to plunge headlong into the dazzling and intoxicating scene before him,” said I.
WOOD. Did you?
MRS. C. Yes! “Caroline will plunge in with him,” said I, “and I—I shall plunge in after both of them,” said I.
WOOD. You?