Mrs Eff. (crossing to Tom). Of the 29th Madras Native Infantry?
Tom (puzzled). I have no doubt that was my regiment.
Mrs. Eff. Viper! (Caroline faints in her fathers arms.)
Tom. What!
Mrs. Eff. Viper! Deliberate and systematic viper! (Goes to Caroline.)
Bul. Poetic fiend in human shape, despair!
Mr. Eff. Blighter of fond and faithful hopes, behold your handiwork!
Tom. Why, what have I done?
O’Fi. (turning up his sleeves). Ay, sorr, what have ye done? Answer me that. Come, Gineral, no evasion, or by the blood of the O’Fipps—— (Turning up sleeves.)