WOOD. (who has been standing looking on with the opera cloaks, &c., &c., in his arms—dashes them down in a lump on the stage) That’s a failure! Then I won’t go home at all! I’ll sleep here! (seizing up the cloaks, &c., and dashing them one after the other on the sofa, L. C., and then throwing himself upon them) There! (burying his head in the pillow) This is very comfortable——
SWANSDOWN hurries in, at L., very pale and excited.
SWANS. (as he enters) Woodcock! Woodcock! (seeing him on sofa) Ah, there he is! (shaking him) Woodcock, get up!
WOOD. (jumping up) Halloa, Swansdown, come back again!
SWANS. (with a savage grin, R.) Yes! ha, ha, ha! (with a forced laugh)
WOOD. (L.) Don’t make such dreadful faces! What’s the matter?
SWANS. Matter? (furiously and grimacing)
WOOD. Don’t grind your teeth in that horrible way. Recollect they’re not your own!
SWANS. Listen! (grasping WOODCOCK’S arm) On my return home, I found Mrs. Swansdown’s maid in Mrs. Swansdown’s room fast asleep! Something was lying on the dressing table! It was a letter!
WOOD. (aside) Larkings’s billet!