MRS. L. Very well! I’ll wait ’till the half hour has expired—patiently, very patiently, (tearing her handkerchief) if the letter doesn’t come, I’ll go to Mr. Swansdown for it—yes—late as it is, I will! and you’ll go with me, won’t you? (imploringly)
MRS. C. Yes, we’ll go together; in the meantime, come with me into the ball room—everybody has doubtless left by this time, and you’ll find a glass or two of sherry and a few sponge cakes a great support in your affliction. Come!
Exeunt at C. to L.—MRS. CARVER supporting MRS. LARKINGS, at the same moment the door, L., slowly opens, and WOODCOCK peeps in, then speaks off.
WOOD. The coast is clear; you can come in.
Enter LARKINGS with his right arm in a sling—SWANSDOWN following, evidently very much out of temper—takes a chair, bangs it down on stage, and falls into it, L.
LARK. (R., pressing his right arm) How confoundedly painful my arm is.
WOOD. (C., soothingly) Yes! I daresay it smarts a little!
SWANS. (dashing his hat down on stage) I’m disgusted! yes, disgusted that this stupid ridiculous duel should have occurred! (to LARKINGS) Why the deuce didn’t you tell me you were sorry for what you’d done—that you meant no harm? my feelings wouldn’t have been wounded!
LARK. (pressing his wounded arm) Nor mine either! but that’s not the worst of it—if Mrs. Larkings discovers what has taken place, do you know what she’ll do? She’ll leave London and bury me alive in the country for the rest of my existence.
WOOD. (aside) Good gracious! I wonder if Mrs. Woodcock would serve me the same if I were to—by jingo! it’s worth thinking about. (aloud) But how is Mrs. Larkings to know anything about it? I shan’t betray you—Swansdown won’t—you won’t betray yourself?