LARK. Come, come, Woodcock--that grave face won't do with me, besides, it isn't because I flirt with my friend's wives that I love them! I flirt with yours, but I don't love her, at least, not yet! ha, ha! but I say, old fellow, don't follow Swansdown's example--what can a man on the wrong side of forty expect if he will go home to bed and leave a pretty young wife behind him, eh? ha, ha! (_poking WOODCOCK in the side_) WOOD. Sir! my friend, Swansdown, has too much confidence---- LARK. (_laughing_) Of course he has, that's the delicious part of it, ha, ha! I say, Woodcock. (_taking his arm, and aside to him_) I don't mind telling you--and after all, I meant no harm--but when Mrs. Larkings went down to your wedding at--what d'ye call the place--Toad in the Hole---- WOOD. Stow-on-the-Wold, sir! (_with dignity_) LARK. No matter! well, I suddenly remarked what a fascinating person she was---- WOOD. Mrs. Larkings? LARK. No, Mrs. Swansdown! I used to say all sorts of stupid things to her---- WOOD. That I'll be bound to say you did; well, there's no great harm in that! LARK. No, but that's not all--not that I meant any harm--well, after a luncheon of grilled chicken and champagne, this afternoon--I don't know how the deuce it happened, but I've a sort of stupid, misty recollection of writing a stupid sort of letter, full of doves and loves, and Cupid's darts and bleeding hearts--you know what I mean--which letter, I'm under a very strong impression, Mrs. Swansdown will find on her dressing table when she gets home to-night. WOOD. Mr. Larkings! LARK. Yes, yes, it was a stupid thing to do, I know, and I heartily wish I had the confounded letter back, but it's too late now, and after all, I meant no harm. (_polka music heard_) There's the polka! I mustn't keep Mrs. Woodcock waiting. Good bye! (_going_) WOOD. Stop! _LARKINGS runs out at C. to L._ Catch me leaving Mrs. Woodcock alone for a single moment! No, no, I'll stick to her like her shadow. I'll revel in Redowas! I'll plunge into polkas! I'll have a shy at the sausages--I mean Schottisches! (_here the polka music becomes louder_) I don't half like my wife's skipping about with that fellow now; if I could only manage to get her away. (_looking at clock, which is in a conspicuous part of the stage_) Only a quarter past one. (_after a short pause_) That clock's too slow. (_lounging up stage, assuming an unconcerned manner and humming a tune--when near the clock, looks right and left, then jumps up into a chair, puts the clock on one hour, and jumps off chair again--then taking out his watch_) Hey-day! my watch is an hour too slow by that clock, and I know there isn't a better clock in England. (_putting his watch on an hour, then hastily thrusting it into his pocket, aside_) Just in time! _Enter MRS. WOODCOCK, at C. from L._ MRS. W. Still here, my dear? Why don't you come into the ball-room?