LARK. But I say, what the deuce is to become of me in the matter?
WOOD. Eh? I have it; you’ve been my second.
LARK. Very well? then I can go to Mrs. Larkings.
WOOD. Yes. Stop! take that sling off.
LARK. Well, but——
WOOD. Take it off, I say!
LARK. (taking off sling and fitting his arm in his waistcoat, with evident pain) There! and now give me that confounded letter of mine.
WOOD. Oh dear, no! I can’t spare that. (taking letter out of envelope and reading) “To see you is to love you.” (aside) And to think I’ve got to copy such twaddle as that. (listening) Hark! I hear some one. You know what you’ve got to do; don’t go and make a mess of it. (aside) And I got married to settle down quietly—it looks like it! Never mind; Woodcock’s got his little game!
Hurries out at L.