WOFF. No, I have that here (she writes—he watches her).
TRIP. Her eyes are red—and Mrs. Vane all of a flutter inside. There’s been a storm—but they haven’t torn each other in pieces, that’s one comfort. But has she relented, I wonder?
WOFF. Triplet! This note to Sir Charles Pomander.
TRIP. Madam (takes it). What is it, I wonder? However, ’tis not my business (going—pauses). But it is my business—I’m not a postman—if I carry letters I ought to know the contents (returns). Madam—
WOFF. Well!
TRIP. Madam—I—I—
WOFF. I see—you wish to know the contents of that letter—hear them: “Follow the bearer.”
TRIP. Madam!
WOFF. (reads). I am here without my husband’s knowledge.