WAITER. Well, they’re mostly wheeled about in Bath chairs.
CAPT. Oh, preserve us! Where is Mrs. Plunger?
WAITER. Went out on the balcony as we came in, sir—with a gentleman.
CAPT. A gentleman! Did she seem to know him?
WAITER. Very much, sir.
CAPT. You can go. I’ll join them.
WAITER. Beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t think they want you to.
CAPT. Go to the—kitchen, fellow!
Exit WAITER, L.
Upon my word, my wife has lost no time in finding a companion. I don’t think that I can pay her a more fitting compliment than that of following her example. It’s a lucky thing for Dumpington I saw Miss Darlington just now, or I’d have gone by the first train that starts for anywhere. I wonder if she knows I’m married? Let us hope the London papers don’t reach here. (sees paper) What’s this? The “Dumpington Gazette.” It’s not in that. (sits down and reads) “Salubrity of Dumpington. The slanderous assertion that this fashionable watering place, the annual rendezvous of such a galaxy of rank and beauty, is infected with an epidemic, is the baseless calumny of venomous malignity. The only fifteen cases in the neighbourhood are yielding rapidly to the invigorating influence of our sea air, and the unflagging energy and skill of Dr. Mumps, the able and experienced practitioner, who advertises weekly in the ‘Dumpington Gazette.’”