SWANS. (_stopping him_) One moment! (_drags him forward--then,
savagely aside to him_) We must fight, sir. I know all! all!
LARK. (_aside_) The devil! (_aloud_) Well, sir, to-morrow morning!
SWANS. No! Now! Now! it's a moonlight night! Primrose Hill close at
hand, and I've pistols in my pocket! Woodcock! (_to WOODCOCK, who has
placed MRS. LARKINGS and MRS. CARVER each in a chair and is fanning
them alternately, still dancing a polka step--SWANSDOWN goes up,
seizes WOODCOCK by the arm, and drags him down--aside to him_) You'll
be my second? I'm going to shoot Larkings!
LARK. (_grasping WOODCOCK'S other arm_) You'll be my second? I'm going
to shoot Swansdown!
SWANS. }
} Come!
LARK. }
_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?