DAVID. So he opens it, ma'am, and--(_to LARKINGS who is making violent signs to him to hold his tongue_) What's the matter, sir? (_MRS. LARKINGS turns towards LARKINGS, who again tries to get up a whistle_) MRS. L. But why bring it to our home? DAVID. Because it's Mr. Larkings's card case, ma'am! MRS. L. (_to LARKINGS, suspiciously_) So you've been to Primrose Hill, it seems? LARK. (_bothered_) Yes--the fact is--the rooms were so hot--and--never having seen the sun set--I mean the moon rise--I--(_aside_) I'd better hold my tongue. MRS. L. (_after a searching look at him_) Where did the man say he picked this card case up? DAVID. Where the shooting took place, ma'am. MRS. L. The shooting? DAVID. Yes, ma'am. (_seeing LARKINGS again making signals to him_) Yes, sir! (_MRS. LARKINGS looks round and LARKINGS again assumes an air of unconcern_) He heard two shots, ma'am--bang, bang; and ran to the spot just in time to see three gentlemen walking off; and---- (_during this LARKINGS has been again repeating his signals to him_) MRS. L. You can go, David. _Exit DAVID, at L._ Larkings! (_eagerly to him_) what does this mean? Speak, Christopher--what has happened? (_grasping LARKINGS'S arm, who makes a grimace_) Ah! you needn't explain; I see it all--there has been a duel? LARK. (_L._) Well---- MRS. L. (_C._) Don't speak; between Mr. Swansdown and you. LARK. No, no. MRS. L. Who then? He believed that _you_ wrote the letter to his wife? LARK. Yes, yes. MRS. L. And challenged you? LARK. Yes, yes. MRS. L. And you fought? LARK. Yes--no, no. MRS. L. Yes, yes--no, no. Explain! No! I see it all. LARK. (_aside_) She's always seeing it all! (_crosses to R._) MRS. L. When you got on the ground, Mr. Woodcock, who was probably your second---- LARK. My second! yes--exactly. MRS. L. Confessed that he was the real culprit---- LARK. (_quickly_) That's it. MRS. L. And received Mr. Swansdown's fire---- LARK. In the arm. MRS. L. Wounded! Mr. Woodcock wounded! LARK. Yes. (_recollecting_) No; that is---- (_aside_) Zounds! nothing was said about _that._ MRS. L. Poor Mr. Woodcock! Which arm was it? LARK. Eh--why--the arm that held the sword! MRS. L. The sword! LARK. Yes--no, I mean the pistol! (_aside_) Now to find Woodcock, and put him on his guard. (_turns and sees WOODCOCK, who enters at L., with his left arm in a sling--aside_) Huzzah! he's got his arm in a sling! MRS. L. (_looking at WOODCOCK, who comes slowly forward, as if very much ashamed of himself_) It is true, then. Unhappy man, I pity you! WOOD. (_assuming a very penitential voice and manner_) I don't deserve it. LARK. (_aside_) Confound it! he's got the _wrong_ arm in the sling! Ahem! (_making violent signs to WOODCOCK to change arms_) MRS. L. (_looking at WOODCOCK_) Why, how's this? (_to LARKINGS_) You told me Mr. Woodcock's wound was in the right arm! LARK. (_confused, R._) Did I? MRS. L. Yes--you distinctly said "the arm that held the pistol."