_They drag WOODCOCK out between them at L., WOODCOCK struggling, &c._ MRS. C. (_who recovers and runs to MRS. LARKINGS_) My dear Mrs. Larkings, look up, there's a dear creature. MRS. L. Oh, oh, oh! (_sobbing_) I'm the most miserable woman in the world! MRS. C. (_soothingly_) So you shall be, there! but what has happened? MRS. L. (_C._) My husband--Christopher has written a love letter to Mrs. Swansdown! Oh, the base, fickle, perfidious monster! MRS. C. (_R. C._) My dear friend, never indulge in a plurality of epithets; select one, a good one, and stick to it! I never called Carver anything but a brute! But are you sure? MRS. L. Quite certain! Mr. Swansdown has promised to send me the letter in half an hour; if it contains the proof of Christopher's inconstancy, oh, what shall I do? MRS. C. Nothing, 'till Mr. Swansdown has sent you the letter---- MRS. L. Very well! I'll wait 'till the half hour has expired--patiently, very patiently, (_tearing her handkerchief_) if the letter doesn't come, I'll go to Mr. Swansdown for it--yes--late as it is, I will! and you'll go with me, won't you? (_imploringly_) MRS. C. Yes, we'll go together; in the meantime, come with me into the ball room--everybody has doubtless left by this time, and you'll find a glass or two of sherry and a few sponge cakes a great support in your affliction. Come! _Exeunt at C. to L.--MRS. CARVER supporting MRS. LARKINGS, at the same moment the door, L., slowly opens, and WOODCOCK peeps in, then speaks off._ WOOD. The coast is clear; you can come in. _Enter LARKINGS with his right arm in a sling--SWANSDOWN following, evidently very much out of temper--takes a chair, bangs it down on stage, and falls into it, L._ LARK. (_R., pressing his right arm_) How confoundedly painful my arm is. WOOD. (_C., soothingly_) Yes! I daresay it smarts a little! SWANS. (_dashing his hat down on stage_) I'm disgusted! yes, disgusted that this stupid ridiculous duel should have occurred! (_to LARKINGS_) Why the deuce didn't you tell me you were sorry for what you'd done--that you meant no harm? my feelings wouldn't have been wounded! LARK. (_pressing his wounded arm_) Nor mine either! but that's not the worst of it--if Mrs. Larkings discovers what has taken place, do you know what she'll do? She'll leave London and bury me alive in the country for the rest of my existence. WOOD. (_aside_) Good gracious! I wonder if Mrs. Woodcock would serve _me_ the same if _I_ were to--by jingo! it's worth thinking about. (_aloud_) But how _is_ Mrs. Larkings to know anything about it? _I_ shan't betray you--Swansdown won't--you won't betray yourself? LARK. No; but my wounded arm will! besides there's that unlucky letter of mine, which Swansdown has promised to send to my wife. SWANS. (_producing letter_) Here it is. If I _don't_ send it, what can I say?