MRS. L. (with an imploring look at LARKINGS) Oh, can you forgive me?
LARK. (in a patronizing tone) Yes, yes!
MRS. L. Dearest, best of Christophers— (suddenly embracing him again)
LARK. Don’t! don’t!
MRS. L. How could I suspect you? but isn’t this dreadful conduct of Mr. Woodcock’s! actually before the honeymoon is over!
LARK. Very shocking, indeed.
MRS. L. The man ought to be put in the pillory!
LARK. At the very least.
MRS. L. Ah! (tenderly) you wouldn’t deceive your fond confiding wife? (affectionately putting her arm in his wounded one)