WOOD. Don't grind your teeth in that horrible way. Recollect they're
not your own!
SWANS. Listen! (_grasping WOODCOCK'S arm_) On my return home, I found
Mrs. Swansdown's maid in Mrs. Swansdown's room fast asleep! Something
was lying on the dressing table! It was a letter!
WOOD. (_aside_) Larkings's billet!
SWANS. Yes! A letter for Mrs. Swansdown, from--from--fiends and
furies!
WOOD. I don't know either of the gentlemen.
SWANS. From Larkings! Christopher Larkings! There was no signature;
but I knew the handwriting! It was a declaration--a declaration! Don't
you hear? (_shouting_)
WOOD. Yes--yes! Well!
SWANS. I rushed into my library--opened my desk--took out my duelling
pistols--put them in my pocket, and--here I am! (_savagely and walking
to and fro_)
WOOD. (_following him_) Pistols? Oh, I say, Swansdown--Swansdown! Oh,
I say!
SWANS. (_stopping suddenly_) Larkings dies!
WOOD. Yes; but don't--don't go and cut him off in the flower of his
polka--I mean, his youth!
SWANS. Ah! here comes Mrs. Larkings! She shall know all!
_Enter MRS. LARKINGS, at C. from L._
WOOD. No--no! (_holding SWANSDOWN back, who tries to join MRS.
LARKINGS_)
MRS. L. (_R._) Still here, Mr. Swansdown, then I shall claim you for
my partner in the polka!