WOOD. Stow-on-the-Wold, sir! (with dignity)
LARK. No matter! well, I suddenly remarked what a fascinating person she was——
WOOD. Mrs. Larkings?
LARK. No, Mrs. Swansdown! I used to say all sorts of stupid things to her——
WOOD. That I’ll be bound to say you did; well, there’s no great harm in that!
LARK. No, but that’s not all—not that I meant any harm—well, after a luncheon of grilled chicken and champagne, this afternoon—I don’t know how the deuce it happened, but I’ve a sort of stupid, misty recollection of writing a stupid sort of letter, full of doves and loves, and Cupid’s darts and bleeding hearts—you know what I mean—which letter, I’m under a very strong impression, Mrs. Swansdown will find on her dressing table when she gets home to-night.
WOOD. Mr. Larkings!
LARK. Yes, yes, it was a stupid thing to do, I know, and I heartily wish I had the confounded letter back, but it’s too late now, and after all, I meant no harm. (polka music heard) There’s the polka! I mustn’t keep Mrs. Woodcock waiting. Good bye! (going)
WOOD. Stop!