MRS. C. Now, my dear, I think we may venture into the ball room!
MRS. W. Without our fans and gloves, mamma?
MRS. C. Marmy has got them.
WOOD. (L.) Eh? yes. (feeling in his pockets) No, I haven’t.
MRS. C. Nonsense, you put them in your pocket, you must have them somewhere about you!
WOOD. If I have, they must have slipped down into my boots! Would you like me to take off my boots? (sulkily)
MRS. C. I dare say you’ve dropped them.
WOOD. No, I’m positive I didn’t drop them. (aside) I flung ’em away!
MRS. C. How careless of you! what’s to be done?
WOOD. Well, it strikes me there’s only one thing to be done—go home again. (hurrying to door, R., and calling out) Ticket No. 18! No. 81! two opera cloaks, one hat, one comforter, one Inverness cape.