POM. If you will have it!
[draws.
TRIP. (throwing himself between them). Hold! hold!
(Woffington suddenly opens the inner room door, and presents herself at the threshold: her hood is drawn over her face).
TRIP. Mrs. Vane!
VANE. Mabel! wife! say that this is not true—that you were lured by stratagem. Oh, speak! belie this coxcomb! You know how bitterly I repented the infatuation that brought me to the feet of another.
(Woffington bursts into a laugh, and throws back the hood.)
POM. Woffington!
VANE. She here!
WOFF. There, Sir Charles, did I not wager he would confess he was heartily ashamed of himself? (crosses to C.)