WOOD. (without) Here I am, Mrs. Carver.
Enter WOODCOCK, L., he has a crush hat on, a shawl round his neck, an Inverness cape, and carries a large bouquet in each hand—he is also in an elaborate evening dress.
MRS. C. At last! I thought you were never coming!
WOOD. (who looks miserable and in a sulky tone) You wouldn’t have me rush into a gentleman’s drawing room as if I’d got a wild bull at my heels?
MAID. Allow me, madam. (taking off MRS. WOODCOCK’S cloak)
MRS. C. Now, Marmy, make yourself useful! (motioning him to take off her cloak)
WOOD. Eh? oh, I know! (taking hold of MRS. CARVER’S cloak behind and giving it a violent tug)
MRS. C. How clumsy you are to be sure! (MAID assists in taking off her cloak)
MAID. Here’s the ticket, madam. (presenting ticket)
WOOD. Wait a minute, young woman! (putting both the bouquets under his arm)