<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>THE NEW YORK IDEA</h1>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p class="figcenter" style="width: 432px;">
<ANTIMG src="images/image001.jpg" width-obs="432" height-obs="580" alt="Langdon Mitchell" title="Langdon Mitchell" />
<span class="caption">Langdon Mitchell</span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="LANGDON_MITCHELL" id="LANGDON_MITCHELL"></SPAN>LANGDON MITCHELL</h2>
<p class="center">(Born Philadelphia, Pa., February 17, 1862)</p>
<p>The performance of "The New York Idea" at the Lyric
Theatre, New York, on November 19, 1906, was one of the rare,
distinguished events in the American Theatre. It revealed the
fact that at last an American playwright had written a drama
comparable with the very best European models, scintillating
with clear, cold brilliancy, whose dialogue carried with it an
exceptional literary style. It was a play that showed a vitality
which will serve to keep it alive for many generations, which will
make it welcome, however often it is revived; for there is a universal
import to its satire which raises it above the local, social
condition it purports to portray. And though there is nothing
of an ideal character about its situations, though it seems to be
all head, with a minimum of apparent heart, it none the less is
universal in the sense that Restoration comedy is universal. It
presents a type of vulgarity, of sporting spirit, that is common in
every generation, whether in the time of Congreve and Wycherley,
whether in the period of Sheridan or Oscar Wilde. Its wit is
not dependent on local colour, though ostensibly it is written
about New York. On its first presentment, it challenged good
writing on the part of the critics. High Comedy always does
that—tickles the brain and stimulates it, drives it at a pace not
usually to be had in the theatre. Is it comedy or is it farce, the
critics queried? Is Mr. Mitchell sincere, and does he flay the evil
he so photographically portrays? Does he treat the sacred subject
of matrimony too flippantly? And should the play, in order
to be effective, have a moral tag, or should it be, what on the
surface it appears to be, a series of realistic scenes about people
whom one cannot admire and does not want to know intimately?
Some of the writers found the picture not to their liking—that is
the effect good satire sometimes has when it strikes home. Yet
when Grace George revived "The New York Idea" in a spirit so
different from Mrs. Fiske's, nine years after, on September 28,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_600" id="Page_600"></SPAN></span>1915, at the Playhouse, New York, the <i>Times</i> was bound to make
the following confession: "A vast array of American authors
have turned out plays innumerable, but not one of them has
quite matched in sparkling gayety and wit this work of Langdon
Mitchell's. And the passing years have left its satire still
pointed. They have not dimmed its polish nor so much as
scratched its smart veneer."</p>
<p>The play was written expressly for Mrs. Fiske. Its hard,
sharp interplay of humour was knowingly cut to suit her hard,
sharp method of acting. Her interpretation was a triumph of
head over heart. Grace George tried to read into <i>Cynthia
Karslake</i> an element of romance which is suggested in the text,
but which was somewhat over-sentimentalized by her soft portrayal.
There is some element of relationship between "The New
York Idea" and Henry Arthur Jones' "Mary Goes First;" there
is the same free air of sporting life, so graphically set forth in
"Lord and Lady Algy." But the American play is greater than
these because of its impersonal strain.</p>
<p>In a letter to the present Editor, Mr. Mitchell has broken
silence regarding the writing of "The New York Idea." Never
before has he tried to analyze its evolution. He says:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The play was written for Mrs. Fiske. The choice of subject was
mine. I demanded complete freedom in the treatment, and my most
wise manager, Mr. Harrison Grey Fiske, accorded this. The play
was produced and played as written, with the exception of one or two
short scenes, which were not acceptable to Mrs. Fiske; that is, she
felt, or would have felt, somewhat strained or unnatural in these
scenes. Accordingly, I cut them out, or rather rewrote them. The
temperament of the race-horse has to be considered—much more,
that of the 'star'.</p>
<p>When I was writing the play, I had really no idea of satirizing
divorce or a law or anything specially temperamental or local. What
I wanted to satirize was a certain extreme frivolity in the American
spirit and in our American life—frivolity in the deep sense—not just
a girl's frivolity, but that profound, sterile, amazing frivolity which
one observes and meets in our churches, in political life, in literature,
in music; in short, in every department of American thought, feeling
and action. The old-fashioned, high-bred family in "The New York
Idea" are solemnly frivolous, and the fast, light-minded, highly intelligent
hero and heroine are frivolous in their own delightful way—frivolity,
of course, to be used for tragedy or comedy. Our frivolity
is, I feel, on the edge of the tragic. Indeed, I think it entirely tragic,
and there are lines, comedy lines, in "The New York Idea," that
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_601" id="Page_601"></SPAN></span>indicate this aspect of the thing.</p>
<p>Of course, there is more than merely satire or frivolity in the
play: there is the Englishman who appears to Americans to be
stupid on account of his manner, but who is frightfully intelligent;
and there are also the energy and life and vigor of the two men
characters. There is, too, throughout the play, the conscious humour
of these two characters, and of the third woman, <i>Vida</i>. The
clergyman is really more frivolous often and far less conscious of his
frivolity—enough, that I rather thought one of the strongest things
about the play was the consciousness of their own humour, of the
three important characters.</p>
<p>The characters were selected from that especial class, or set,
in our Society, whose ancestors and traditions go back to colonial
times. They are not merely <i>society</i> characters, for, of course, people
in society may lack all traditions. I mention this merely because
my selection of characters from such a set of people gives the play a
certain mellowness and a certain air which it otherwise would not
have. If <i>Jack</i> and <i>Cynthia</i> were both completely self-made, or the
son and daughter of powerful, self-made people, their tone could
not be the same.</p>
<p>The piece was played in England as a farce; and it was given
without the permission of the author or American manager. It was
given for a considerable number of performances in Berlin, after
the Great War began. In the German translation it was called
"Jonathan's Daughter."<SPAN name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</SPAN> Our relations with Germany at the time
were strained on account of 'certain happenings', but, notwithstanding,
the play was extraordinarily well received.</p>
</div>
<p>When "The New York Idea" was first published by the Walter
Baker Co., of Boston, it carried as an introduction a notice of
the play written by William Archer, and originally published in
the London <i>Tribune</i> of May 27, 1907. This critique follows the
present foreword, as its use in the early edition represents Mr.
Mitchell's choice.</p>
<p>The writing of "The New York Idea" was not Mr. Mitchell's
first dramatic work for Mrs. Fiske. At the New York Fifth
Avenue Theatre, on September 12, 1899, she appeared in
"Becky Sharp," his successful version of Thackeray's "Vanity
Fair," which held the stage for some time, and was later revived
with considerable renewal of its former interest. Two years after,
rival versions were presented in London, one by David Balsillie
(Theatre Royal, Croydon, June 24, 1901) and the other by
Robert Hichens and Cosmo Gordon Lennox (Prince of Wales's
Theatre, August 27, 1901)—the latter play used during the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_602" id="Page_602"></SPAN></span>
existence of the New Theatre (New York). Most of Mr.
Mitchell's attempts in play-writing have been in dramatization,
first of his father's "The Adventures of François," and later of
Thackeray's "Pendennis," Atlantic City, October 11, 1916. He
was born February 17, 1862, at Philadelphia, the son of Silas
Weir Mitchell, and received his education largely abroad. He
studied law at Harvard and Columbia, and was admitted to the
bar in 1882. He was married, in 1892, to Marion Lea, of London,
whose name was connected with the early introduction of Ibsen
to the English public; she was in the initial cast of "The New
York Idea," and to her the play is dedicated.</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap"><b>Mr. William Archer's Notice of<br/>
"The New York Idea."</b></span><br/></p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>... This play, too, I was unable to see, but I have read
it with extraordinary interest. It is a social satire so largely
conceived and so vigorously executed that it might take an
honourable place in any dramatic literature. We have nothing
quite like it on the latter-day English stage. In tone and treatment
it reminds one of Mr. Carton; but it is far broader in conception
and richer in detail than "Lord and Lady Algy" or "Lady
Huntworth's Experiment." In France, it might perhaps be
compared to "La Famille Benoiton" or "Le Monde ou l'on
s'ennuie," or better, perhaps, to a more recent, but now almost
forgotten satire of the 'nineties, "Paris Fin-de-Siècle."</p>
<p>I find it very hard to classify "The New York Idea" under any
of the established rubrics. It is rather too extravagant to rank
as a comedy; it is much too serious in its purport, too searching
in its character-delineation and too thoughtful in its wit, to be
treated as a mere farce. Its title—not, perhaps, a very happy
one—is explained in this saying of one of the characters: "Marry
for whim and leave the rest to the divorce court—that's the New
York idea of marriage." And again: "The modern American
marriage is like a wire fence—the woman's the wire—the posts
are the husbands. One—two—three! And if you cast your eye
over the future, you can count them, post after post, up hill, down
dale, all the way to Dakota."</p>
<p>Like all the plays, from Sardou's "Divorçons" onward, which
deal with a too facile system of divorce, this one shows a discontented
woman, who has broken up her home for a caprice, suffering<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_603" id="Page_603"></SPAN></span>
agonies of jealousy when her ex-husband proposes to make use
of the freedom she has given him, and returning to him at last
with the admission that their divorce was at least "premature."
In this central conception there is nothing particularly original.
It is the wealth of humourous invention displayed in the details
both of character and situation that renders the play remarkable.</p>
<p>It is interesting to note, by the way, a return on Mr. Mitchell's
part to that convenient assumption of the Restoration and eighteenth
century comedy writers that any one in holy orders could
solemnize a legal marriage at any time or place, without the
slightest formality of banns, witnesses, registration or anything
of the sort. One gathers that in New York the entrance to and
the exit from the holy estate of matrimony are equally prompt
and easy; or that, as one of the characters puts it, "the church is
a regular quick-marriage counter."</p>
<p>I presume there is some exaggeration in this, and that a marriage
cannot actually be celebrated at midnight, over a champagne-and-lobster
supper, by a clergyman who happened to drop
in. But there can be no doubt that whatever the social merits or
demerits of the system, facility of divorce and remarriage is an
immense boon to the dramatist. It places within his reach an
inexhaustible store of situations and complications which are
barred to the English playwright, to whom divorce always means
an ugly and painful scandal. The moralist may insist that this
ought always to be the case; and indeed that is the implication
which Mr. Mitchell, as a moralist, conveys to us.</p>
<p>He sacrifices the system of divorce for every trivial flaw of
temper which prevails in the society he depicts; but he no doubt
realizes that his doctrine as a satirist is hostile to his interest as a
dramatist. Restrict the facilities of divorce and you at once
restrict the possibilities of matrimonial comedy. Marriage becomes
no longer a comic, but a tragic institution.</p>
<p>In order to keep his theme entirely on the comic plane, Mr.
Mitchell has given no children to either of the two couples whom
he puts through such a fantastic quadrille. Law or no law, the
separation of its parents is always a tragedy to the child; which
is not to say, of course, that their remaining together may not in
some cases be the more tragic of the two alternatives. Be this as
it may, Mr. Mitchell has eluded the issue.</p>
<p>Nor has he thereby falsified his problem, for his characters
belong to that class of society in which, as Mr. Dooley points out,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_604" id="Page_604"></SPAN></span>
the multiplication of automobiles is preferred to that of progeny.
But he has not omitted to hint at the problem of the children,
and, as it were, confess his deliberate avoidance of it. He does
so in a touch of exquisite irony. <i>John</i> and <i>Cynthia Karslake</i> are
a couple devoted, not to automobiles, but to horses. Even their
common passion for racing cannot keep them together; but their
divorce is so "premature," and leaves <i>John</i> so restless and dissatisfied,
that he actually neglects the cares of the stable. His
favourite mare, Cynthia K, falls ill, and when his trainer brings
him the news he receives it with shocking callousness. Then the
trainer meets <i>Cynthia</i> and complains to her of her ex-husband's
indifference. "Ah, ma'am," he says, "when husband and wife
splits, it's the horses that suffers." I know not where to look for
a speech of profounder ironic implication. More superficial, but
still a good specimen of Mr. Mitchell's wit, is <i>William Sudley's</i>
remark as to <i>John Karslake</i>: "Oh, yes, he comes of a very
respectable family, though I remember his father served a term
in the Senate."</p>
<p>Altogether "The New York Idea" is, from the intellectual
point of view, the most remarkable piece of work I have encountered
in America. It is probably too true to the details of
American life to have much success in England; but the situation
at the end of the third act could not fail to bring down the house
even here. It would take too long to describe it in detail. Suffice
it to say that just at the point where <i>Cynthia Karslake</i> dismisses
her second bridegroom, to return to her first, the choir assembled
for the marriage ceremony, mistaking a signal, bursts forth with
irresistibly ludicrous effect into "The Voice That Breathed O'er
Eden."<SPAN name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</SPAN></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></SPAN> At the Kammerspiel Theatre, Berlin, under the direction of Max Reinhardt,
October 7, 1916. There are translations in Danish, Swedish and Hungarian.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></SPAN> <i>The Editor takes the occasion to express his thanks to Mr. William Archer for his
kind permission to quote this analysis of the play.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_605" id="Page_605"></SPAN></span></p>
<h2>LYRIC THEATRE<br/></h2>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="lyric">
<tr><td align='left'>REGINALD DeKOVEN,</td><td align='right'>Proprietor</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>SAM S. and LEE SHUBERT (Inc.),</td><td align='right'>Lessees and Managers</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p class="center">NINTH AND LAST WEEK.<br/><br/>
BEGINNING MONDAY EVENING. JANUARY 14, 1907.<br/><br/>
Matinee Saturday.<br/></p>
<h5>Under the Direction of HARRISON GREY FISKE<br/></h5>
<h3>MRS. FISKE<br/></h3>
<h5>—AND—<br/></h5>
<h4>THE MANHATTAN COMPANY<br/></h4>
<h6>Presenting a Play in Four Acts, Entitled<br/></h6>
<h3>THE NEW YORK IDEA<br/></h3>
<h4>BY LANGDON MITCHELL<br/><br/></h4>
<p class="center">Cast of Characters.<br/></p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="cast">
<tr><td align='left'>Philip Phillimore</td><td align='right'>Charles Harbury</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mrs. Phillimore, his mother</td><td align='right'>Ida Vernon</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Reverend Mathew Phillimore, his brother</td><td align='right'>Dudley Clinton</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Grace Phillimore, his sister</td><td align='right'>Emily Stevens</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Miss Heneage, his aunt</td><td align='right'>Blanche Weaver</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>William Sudley, his cousin</td><td align='right'>Dudley Digges</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mrs. Vida Phillimore, his divorced wife</td><td align='right'>Marion Lea</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Brooks, her footman</td><td align='right'>Frederick Kerby</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Benson, her maid</td><td align='right'>Belle Bohn</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby</td><td align='right'>George Arliss</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>John Karslake</td><td align='right'>John Mason</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mrs. Cynthia Karslake, his divorced wife</td><td align='right'>Mrs. Fiske</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Nogam, his valet</td><td align='right'>James Morley</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Tim Fiddler</td><td align='right'>Robert V. Ferguson</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Thomas, the Phillimore's family servant</td><td align='right'>Richard Clarke</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><SPAN href="#ACT_I">ACT I</SPAN>—Drawing-Room in the Phillimore house. Washington Square.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Wednesday afternoon, at five o'clock.</i></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><SPAN href="#ACT_II">ACT II</SPAN>—Mrs. Vida Phillimore's Boudoir. Fifth Avenue.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Thursday morning at eleven.</i></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><SPAN href="#ACT_III">ACT III</SPAN>—Same as Act I.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Thursday evening, at ten.</i></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><SPAN href="#ACT_IV">ACT IV</SPAN>—John Karslake's House. Madison Avenue.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Thursday, at midnight.</i></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Scene—New York</td><td align='right'> Time—The Present.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p class="center">The production staged by Mr. and Mrs. Fiske.<br/></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_607" id="Page_607"></SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>THE NEW YORK IDEA</h2>
<h3><i>A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS</i></h3>
<h2>By <span class="smcap">Langdon Mitchell</span></h2>
<h6>COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY LANGDON MITCHELL</h6>
<p><small>[This play, copyrighted in 1907, 1908, and published originally by Walter H. Baker
and Co., of Boston, Mass., is fully protected and the right of representation is
reserved. Application for the right of performing this play may be made to Alice
Kauser, 1402 Broadway, New York, N. Y. The Editor takes this opportunity of
thanking Mr. Langdon Mitchell for his great interest in the compilation of this
Collection, and for his permission to have "The New York Idea" used in it. The
complete revision of the stage directions, especially for this volume, makes it
possible to regard the play, here printed, as the only authentic version.]</small></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_608" id="Page_608"></SPAN></span></p>
<h2>THE PEOPLE.</h2>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="people">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Philip Phillimore</span>, <i>a Judge on the bench, age 50</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Grace Phillimore</span>, <i>his sister, age 20</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>his mother, age 70</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>, <i>his aunt, age 60</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Matthew Phillimore</span>, <i>his brother—a bishop, age 45</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">William Sudley</span>, <i>his cousin, age 50</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Vida Phillimore</span>, <i>his divorced wife, age 35</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">John Karslake</span>, <i>lawyer, politician and racing-man, age 35</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Cynthia Karslake</span>, <i>his divorced wife, age 25</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Brooks, Mrs. Phillimore's</span> <i>footman</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tim Fiddler, Mr. Karslake's</span> <i>trainer</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Nogam</span>, <i>his valet</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Thomas</span>, <i>the family servant of the</i> <span class="smcap">Phillimores</span>, <i>age 45</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Benson, Mrs. Vida Phillimore's</span> <i>maid, age 20</i>.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_609" id="Page_609"></SPAN></span></p>
<p class="center"><b>The following is the Cast for the evening performance at the<br/>
Lyric Theatre, New York, Monday, November 19, 1906.</b></p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="castnov">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Philip Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Charles Harbury.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>his mother</i></td><td align='left'>Ida Vernon.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Reverend Matthew Phillimore</span>, <i>his brother</i></td><td align='left'>Dudley Clinton.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Grace Phillimore</span>, <i>his sister</i></td><td align='left'>Emily Stevens.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>, <i>his aunt</i></td><td align='left'>Blanche Weaver.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">William Sudley</span>, <i>his cousin</i></td><td align='left'>William B. Mack.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Vida Phillimore</span>, <i>his divorced wife</i></td><td align='left'>Marion Lea.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Brooks</span>, <i>her footman</i></td><td align='left'>George Harcourt.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Benson</span>, <i>her maid</i></td><td align='left'>Belle Bohn.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby</span></td><td align='left'>George Arliss.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">John Karslake</span></td><td align='left'>John Mason.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Cynthia Karslake</span>, <i>his divorced wife</i></td><td align='left'>Mrs. Fiske.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Nogam</span>, <i>his valet</i></td><td align='left'>Dudley Digges.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tim Fiddler</span></td><td align='left'>Robert V. Ferguson.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Thomas, the Phillimore's</span> <i>family servant</i></td><td align='left'>Richard Clarke.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Scene—New York.</td><td align='left'>Time—The Present.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p class="center"><b>Revived in New York at The Playhouse, Tuesday Evening,<br/>
September 28, 1915, with the following Cast.</b></p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="castsep">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Philip Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Lumsden Hare.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Grace Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Norah Lamison.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Eugenie Woodward.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span></td><td align='left'>Josephine Lovett.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Matthew Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Albert Reed.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">William Sudley</span></td><td align='left'>John Cromwell.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Vida Phillimore</span></td><td align='left'>Mary Nash.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby</span></td><td align='left'>Ernest Lawford.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">John Karslake</span></td><td align='left'>Conway Tearle.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Cynthia Karslake</span></td><td align='left'>Grace George.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Brooks</span></td><td align='left'>Selwyn Joyce.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tim Fiddler</span></td><td align='left'>Tracy Barrow.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Nogam</span></td><td align='left'>G. Guthrie McClintic.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Thomas</span></td><td align='left'>Richard Clarke.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Benson</span></td><td align='left'>Anita Wood.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_611" id="Page_611"></SPAN></span></p>
<h3><i>To Marion Lea</i></h3>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_613" id="Page_613"></SPAN></span></p>
<h2>THE NEW YORK IDEA</h2>
<h2><SPAN name="ACT_I" id="ACT_I"></SPAN>ACT I.</h2>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span> <i>Living-room in the house of</i> <span class="smcap">Philip Phillimore</span>. <i>Five</i>
<span class="smcap">P. M.</span> <i>of an afternoon of May. The general air and appearance of
the room is that of an old-fashioned, decorous, comfortable interior.
There are no electric lights and no electric bells. Two bell ropes
as in old-fashioned houses. The room is in dark tones inclining
to sombre and of old-fashioned elegance.</i></p>
<p><i>Seated in the room are</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>, <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>and</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>. <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>is a solidly built, narrow-minded
woman in her sixties. She makes no effort to look younger than
she is, and is expensively but quietly dressed, with heavy elegance.
She commands her household and her family connection, and on
the strength of a large and steady income feels that her opinion has
its value.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>is a semi-professional invalid,
refined and unintelligent. Her movements are weak and fatigued.
Her voice is habitually plaintive and she is entirely a lady without
a trace of being a woman of fashion.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>is an easy-mannered,
but respectful family servant, un-English both in style
and appearance. He has no deportment worthy of being so called,
and takes an evident interest in the affairs of the family he serves.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>is seated at the tea-table, facing the footlights.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs.
Phillimore</span> <i>is seated at the table on the right.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>stands
near by. Tea things on table. Decanter of sherry in coaster.
Bread and butter on plate. Vase with flowers. Silver match-box.
Large old-fashioned tea urn. Guard for flame. "The Evening
Post" on tea-table.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>both
have cups of tea.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>sits up very straight, and pours
tea for</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span>, <i>who enters from door. She is a pretty and fashionably
dressed girl of twenty. She speaks superciliously, coolly,
and not too fast. She sits on the sofa gracefully and without
lounging. She wears a gown suitable for spring visiting, hat,
parasol, and gloves.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>As she moves to the sofa.</i>] I never in my life walked
so far and found so few people at home. [<i>Pauses. Takes off<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_614" id="Page_614"></SPAN></span>
gloves. Somewhat querulously.</i>] The fact is the nineteenth of
May is ridiculously late to be in town.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Thomas, Mr. Phillimore's sherry?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Indicating the particular table.</i>] The sherry, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Mr. Phillimore's <i>Post</i>?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Pointing to "The Evening Post" on the tea-table.</i>]
The <i>Post</i>, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Indicating cup.</i>] Miss Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>takes cup of tea to</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span>. <i>Silence. They all sip tea.</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes back, fills sherry glass, remaining round and about
the tea-table. They all drink tea during their entire conversation.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> The Dudleys were at home. They wished to know
when my brother Philip was to be married, and where and how?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> If the Dudleys were persons of breeding,
they'd not intrude their curiosity upon you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I like Lena Dudley.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Speaking slowly and gently.</i>] Do I know
Miss Dudley?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> She knows Philip. She expects an announcement of
the wedding.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> I trust you told her that my son, my sister
and myself are all of the opinion that those who have been divorced
should remarry with modesty and without parade.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I told the Dudleys Philip's wedding was here, to-morrow.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>picking up a sheet of
paper from the table.</i>] I have spent the afternoon, Mary, in
arranging and listing the wedding gifts, and in writing out the
announcements of the wedding. I think I have attained a proper
form of announcement. [<i>Taking the sheet of note-paper and giving
it to</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.] Of course the announcement Philip himself made
was quite out of the question. [<span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>smiles.</i>] However, there is
mine. [<i>She points to the paper.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>gives the list to</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs.
Phillimore</span> <i>and moves away.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I hope you'll send an announcement to the Dudleys.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Prepared to make the best of things, plaintively
reads.</i>] "Mr. Philip Phillimore and Mrs. Cynthia Dean
Karslake announce their marriage, May twentieth, at three<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_615" id="Page_615"></SPAN></span>
o'clock, Nineteen A, Washington Square, New York." [<i>Replacing
the paper on</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas's</span> <i>salver.</i>] It sounds very nice.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>returns the paper to</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> In my opinion it barely escapes sounding
nasty. However, it is correct. The only remaining question is—to
whom the announcement should not be sent. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes
out.</i>] I consider an announcement of the wedding of two divorced
persons to be in the nature of an intimate communication. It
not only announces the wedding—it also announces the divorce.
[<i>Returning to her teacup.</i>] The person I shall ask counsel of is
cousin William Sudley. He promised to drop in this afternoon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Oh! We shall hear all about Cairo.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> William is judicious. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>returns.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>With finality.</i>] Cousin William will disapprove
of the match unless a winter in Cairo has altered his moral
tone.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Announcing.</i>] Mr. Sudley.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>He ushers in</i> <span class="smcap">William Sudley</span>, <i>a little oldish gentleman. He is and
appears thoroughly insignificant. But his opinion of the place
he occupies in the world is enormous. His manners, voice,
presence, are all those of a man of breeding and self-importance.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Rising and greeting</i>
<span class="smcap">Sudley</span>; <i>a little tremulously.</i>] My dear William!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>withdraws.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Shakes hands with</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>soberly glad
to see them.</i>] How d'ye do, Mary? [<i>Greeting</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>.]
A very warm May you're having, Sarah.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Coming forward to welcome him.</i>] Dear Cousin
William!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Wasn't it warm in Cairo when you left?</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>She will have the strict truth, or nothing; still, on account of</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley's</span>
<i>impeccable respectability, she treats him with more than
usual leniency.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Sitting down.</i>] We left Cairo six weeks ago, Grace,
so I've had no news since you wrote in February that Philip was
engaged. [<i>After a pause.</i>] I need not to say I consider Philip's
engagement excessively regrettable. He is a judge upon the
Supreme Court bench with a divorced wife—and such a divorced
wife!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_616" id="Page_616"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Oh, but Philip has succeeded in keeping everything as
quiet as possible.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Acidly.</i>] No, my dear! He has not succeeded in
keeping his former wife as quiet as possible. We had not been
in Cairo a week when who should turn up but Vida Phillimore.
She went everywhere and did everything no woman should!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>With unfeigned interest.</i>] Oh, what did she do?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> She "did" Cleopatra at the tableaux at Lord Errington's!
She "did" Cleopatra, and she did it robed only in some
diaphanous material of a nature so transparent that—in fact she
appeared to be draped in moonshine. [<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>indicates
the presence of</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>and rises.</i>] That was only the beginning.
As soon as she heard of Philip's engagement, she gave a dinner in
honour of it! Only divorcées were asked! And she had a dummy—yes,
my dear, a dummy!—at the head of the table. He stood
for Philip—that is he sat for Philip!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Rising and moving to the table.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Irritated and disgusted.</i>] Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>With dismay and pain.</i>] Dear me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Confident of the value of her opinion.</i>] I disapprove
of Mrs. Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Taking a cigarette.</i>] Of course you do, but has Philip
taken to Egyptian cigarettes in order to celebrate my winter at
Cairo?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Those are Cynthia's.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Thinking that no one is worth knowing whom he does
not know.</i>] Who is "Cynthia?"</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Mrs. Karslake—She's staying here, Cousin William.
She'll be down in a minute.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Shocked.</i>] You don't mean to tell me—?—!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Yes, William, Cynthia is Mrs. Karslake—Mrs.
Karslake has no New York house. I disliked the publicity
of a hotel in the circumstances, and, accordingly, when she
became engaged to Philip, I invited her here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Suspicious and distrustful.</i>] And may I ask <i>who</i> Mrs.
Karslake is?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>With confidence.</i>] She was a Deane.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Walking about the room, sorry to be obliged to concede
good birth to any but his own blood.</i>] Oh, oh—well, the Deanes are
extremely nice people. [<i>Approaching the table.</i>] Was her father
J. William Deane?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_617" id="Page_617"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Nodding, still more secure.</i>] Yes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Giving in with difficulty.</i>] The family is an old one.
J. William Deane's daughter? Surely he left a very considerable—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Oh, fifteen or twenty millions.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Determined not to be dazzled.</i>] If I remember rightly
she was brought up abroad.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> In France and England—and I fancy brought
up with a very gay set in very gay places. In fact she is what is
called a "sporty" woman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Always ready to think the worst.</i>] We might put up
with that. But you don't mean to tell me Philip has the—the—assurance
to marry a woman who has been divorced by—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Not at all. Cynthia Karslake divorced her
husband.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Gloomily, since he has less fault to find than he expected.</i>]
She divorced him! Ah!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He seeks the consolation of his tea.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> The suit went by default. And, my dear
William, there are many palliating circumstances. Cynthia was
married to Karslake only seven months. There are no— [<i>Glancing
at</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span>] no hostages to Fortune! Ahem!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Still unwilling to be pleased.</i>] Ah! What sort of a
young woman is she?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>With the superiority of one who is not too popular.</i>]
Men admire her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> She's not conventional.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Showing a faint sense of justice.</i>] I am
bound to say she has behaved discreetly ever since she arrived
in this house.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Yes, Mary—but I sometimes suspect that
she exercises a degree of self-control—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Glad to have something against some one.</i>] She claps
on the lid, eh? And you think that perhaps some day she'll boil
over? Well, of course fifteen or twenty millions—but who's
Karslake?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Very superciliously.</i>] He owns Cynthia K. She's the
famous mare.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> He's Henry Karslake's son.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Beginning to make the best of fifteen millions-in-law.</i>]
Oh!—Henry!—Very respectable family. Although I remember<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_618" id="Page_618"></SPAN></span>
his father served a term in the Senate. And so the wedding is
to be to-morrow?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Assenting.</i>] To-morrow.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Rising, his respectability to the front when he thinks of
the ceremony.</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>rises.</i>] To-morrow. Well, my dear Sarah,
a respectable family with some means. We must accept her.
But on the whole, I think it will be best for me not to see the
young woman. My disapprobation would make itself apparent.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Whispering to</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>.] Cynthia's coming.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He doesn't hear.</i></span><br/></p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>comes in, absorbed in reading a newspaper. She is a
young creature in her twenties, small and high-bred, full of the
love of excitement and sport. Her manner is wide-awake and
keen, and she is evidently in no fear of the opinion of others.
Her dress is exceedingly elegant, but with the elegance of a
woman whose chief interests lie in life out of doors. There is
nothing hard or masculine in her style, and her expression is
youthful and ingenuous.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Sententious and determinately epigrammatic.</i>] The
uncouth modern young woman, eight feet high, with a skin like
a rhinoceros and manners like a cave-dweller—an habitué of the
race-track and the divorce court—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>.] Cousin William!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> Eh, oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Reading her newspaper, advances into the room,
immersed, excited, trembling. She lowers paper to catch the light.</i>]
"Belmont favourite—six to one—Rockaway—Rosebud, and
Flying Cloud. Slow track—raw wind—h'm, h'm, h'm—At
the half, Rockaway forged ahead, when Rosebud under the lash
made a bold bid for victory—neck by neck—for a quarter—when
Flying Cloud slipped by the pair and won on the post by a
nose in one forty nine!" [<i>Speaking with the enthusiasm of a sport.</i>]
Oh, I wish I'd seen the dear thing do it. Oh, it's Mr. Sudley!
You must think me very rude. How do you do, Mr. Sudley?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Going over to</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Bowing without cordiality.</i>] Mrs. Karslake.</p>
<p>[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>pauses, feeling he should say something. As he says
nothing, she speaks again.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I hope Cairo was delightful? Did you have a
smooth voyage?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_619" id="Page_619"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Pompously.</i>] You must permit me, Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With good temper, somewhat embarrassed, and
talking herself into ease.</i>] Oh, please don't welcome me to the
family. All that formal part is over, if you don't mind. I'm one
of the tribe now! You're coming to our wedding to-morrow?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> My dear Mrs. Karslake, I think it might be wiser—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Still with cordial good temper.</i>] Oh, but you must
come! I mean to be a perfect wife to Philip and all his relations!
That sounds rather miscellaneous, but you know what I mean.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Very sententious.</i>] I am afraid—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Gay and still covering her embarrassment.</i>] If you
don't come, it'll look as if you were not standing by Philip when
he's in trouble! You'll come, won't you—but of course you
will.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>After a self-important pause.</i>] I will come, Mrs.
Karslake. [<i>Pausing.</i>] Good-afternoon. [<i>In a tone of sorrow and
light compassion.</i>] Good-bye, Mary. Good-afternoon, Sarah.
[<i>Sighing.</i>] Grace, dear. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>.] At what hour did
you say the alimony commences?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Quickly and commandingly to cover his slip.</i>]
The ceremony is at three <span class="smcap">P. M.</span>, William.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>walks toward the door.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>With fatigued voice and manner as she
rises.</i>] I am going to my room to rest awhile.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She trails slowly from the room.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>.] Oh, William, one moment—I
entirely forgot! I've a most important social question to ask
you! [<i>She accompanies him slowly to the door.</i>] in regard to the
announcements of the wedding—who they shall be sent to and
who not. For instance—the Dudleys— [<i>Deep in their talk</i>,
<span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>pass out together.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>From the sofa.</i>] So that's Cousin William?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>From the tea-table.</i>] Don't you like him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Calmly sarcastic.</i>] Like him? I love him. He's so
generous. He couldn't have received me with more warmth if
I'd been a mulatto.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in, preceded by</i> <span class="smcap">Phillimore</span>. <span class="smcap">Philip Phillimore</span>
<i>is a self-centered, short-tempered, imperious member of the
respectable fashionables of New York. He is well and solidly
dressed, and in manner and speech evidently a man of family.
He is accustomed to being listened to in his home circle and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_620" id="Page_620"></SPAN></span>
from the bench, and it is practically impossible for him to believe
that he can make a mistake.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Outraged.</i>] Really you know— [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>moves to the table.</i>] Philip!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>nods to</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>absent-mindedly. He is in his working suit
and looks tired. He walks into the room silently; goes over to
the tea-table, bends over and kisses</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>on the forehead.
Goes to his chair, which</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>has moved to suit him. He
sits, and sighs with satisfaction.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>As if exhausted by brain work.</i>] Ah, Grace! [<span class="smcap">Grace</span>
<i>immediately sails out of the room.</i>] Well, my dear, I thought I
should never extricate myself from the court-room. You look
very debonnair!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> The tea's making. You'll have your glass of sherry?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>The strain of the day evidently having been severe.</i>]
Thanks! [<i>Taking it from</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>and sighing.</i>] Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I can see it's been a tiring day with you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>His great tussle with the world leaving him unworsted
but utterly spent.</i>] H'm! [<i>He gratefully sips his tea.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Were the lawyers very long-winded?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Almost too tired for speech.</i>] Prolix to the point of
somnolence. It might be affirmed without inexactitude that the
prolixity of counsel is the somnolence of the judiciary. I am
fatigued, ah! [<i>A little suddenly, awaking to the fact that his orders
have not been carried out to the letter.</i>] Thomas! My <i>Post</i> is not
in its usual place!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> It's here, Philip. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>gets it.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Thanks, my dear. [<i>Opening "The Post."</i>] Ah! This
hour with you—is—is really the—the— [<i>Absently.</i>] the one vivid
moment of the day. [<i>Reading.</i>] H'm—shocking attack by the
President on vested interests. H'm—too bad—but it's to be
expected. The people insisted on electing a desperado to the
presidential office—they must take the hold-up that follows.
[<i>After a pause, he reads.</i>] H'm! His English is lacking in idiom,
his spelling in conservatism, his mind in balance, and his character
in repose.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Amiable but not very sympathetic.</i>] You seem more
fatigued than usual. Another glass of sherry, Philip?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Oh, I ought not to—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I think you seem a little more tired than usual.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_621" id="Page_621"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Perhaps I am. [<i>She pours out sherry.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>takes
glass but does not sip.</i>] Ah, this hour is truly a grateful form of
restful excitement. [<i>After an inspired interval.</i>] You, too, find
it—eh? [<i>He looks at</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With veiled sarcasm.</i>] Decidedly.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Decidedly what, my dear?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her sarcasm still veiled.</i>] Restful.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> H'm! Perhaps I need the calm more than you do.
Over the case to-day I actually—eh— [<i>Sipping his tea.</i>] slumbered.
I heard myself do it. That's how I know. A dressmaker
sued on seven counts. [<i>Reading his newspaper.</i>] Really, the
insanity of the United States Senate—you seem restless, my dear.
Ah—um—have you seen the evening paper? I see there has been
a lightning change in the style or size of hats which ladies—</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>Sweeping a descriptive motion with his hand, he gives the paper to</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>then moves his glass, reads, and sips.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> The lamp, Thomas.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>blows out the alcohol lamp on the tea-table with difficulty.
Blows twice. Movement of</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>each time. Blows again.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Irritably.</i>] Confound it, Thomas! What are you
puffing and blowing at—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> It's out, ma'am—yes, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You're excessively noisy, Thomas!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>In a fluster.</i>] Yes, sir—I am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Soothing</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas's</span> <i>wounded feelings.</i>] We don't
need you, Thomas.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Yes, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Puffing and blowing and shaking and quaking like an
automobile in an ecstasy! [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>meekly withdraws.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Not unsympathetically.</i>] Too bad, Philip! I hope
my presence isn't too agitating?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Ah—it's just because I value this hour with you,
Cynthia—this hour of tea and toast and tranquillity. It's quite
as if we were married—happily married—already.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Admitting that married life is a blank, begins to look
through paper.</i>] Yes, I feel as if we were married already.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Not recognizing her tone.</i>] Ah! It's the calm, you
see.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Without warmth.</i>] The calm? Yes—yes, it's—it's
the calm.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_622" id="Page_622"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Sighs.</i>] Yes, the calm—the Halcyon calm of—of
second choice. H'm! [<i>He reads and turns over the leaves of the
paper.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>reads. There is a silence.</i>] After all, my dear—the
feeling which I have for you—is—is—eh—the market is in a
shocking condition of plethora! H'm—h'm—and what are you
reading?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Embarrassed.</i>] Oh, eh—well—I—eh—I'm just
running over the sporting news.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Oh! [<i>He looks thoughtful.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Beginning to forget</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>and to remember more
interesting matters.</i>] I fancied Hermes would come in an easy
winner. He came in nowhere. Nonpareil was ridden by Henslow—he's
a rotten bad rider. He gets nervous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Still interested in his newspaper.</i>] Does he? H'm!
I suppose you do retain an interest in horses and races. H'm—I
trust some day the—ah—law will attract—Oh [<i>Turning a
page.</i>], here's the report of my opinion in that dressmaker's case—Haggerty
<i>vs.</i> Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Puzzled.</i>] Was the case brought against you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Oh—no. The suit was brought by Haggerty, Miss
Haggerty, a dressmaker, against the—in fact, my dear, against
the former Mrs. Phillimore. [<i>After a pause, he returns to his
reading.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Curious about the matter.</i>] How did you decide it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I was obliged to decide in Mrs. Phillimore's favour.
Haggerty's plea was preposterous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Did you—did you meet the—the—former—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I often see her at afternoon teas.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> How did you recognize—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why— [<i>Opening the paper.</i>] because Mrs. Vida
Phillimore's picture appears in every other issue of most of the
evening papers. And I must confess I was curious. But, I'm
sure you find it very painful to meet her again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Slowly, considering.</i>] No,—would you find it so
impossible to meet Mr.—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Much excited and aroused.</i>] Philip! Don't speak of
him. He's nothing. He's a thing of the past. I never think of
him. I forget him!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Somewhat sarcastic.</i>] That's extraordinarily original
of you to forget him.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_623" id="Page_623"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Gently, and wishing to drop the subject.</i>] We each of
us have something to forget, Philip—and John Karslake is to
me—Well, he's dead!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> As a matter of fact, my dear, he <i>is</i> dead, or the next
thing to it—for he's bankrupt.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>After a pause.</i>] Bankrupt? [<i>Excited and moved.</i>]
Let's not speak of him. I mean never to see him or think about
him or even hear of him! [<i>He assents. She reads her paper. He
sips his tea and reads his paper. She turns a page, starts and cries
out.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> God bless me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> It's a picture of—of—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> John Karslake?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Picture of him, and one of me, and in the middle
between us "Cynthia K!"</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> "Cynthia K!"</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Excited.</i>] My pet riding mare! The best horse he
has! She's an angel even in a photograph! Oh! [<i>Reading.</i>]
"John Karslake drops a fortune at Saratoga." [<i>Rises and walks
up and down excitedly.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>takes the paper and reads.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Unconcerned, as the matter hardly touches him.</i>] Hem—ah—Advertises
country place for sale—stables, famous
mare "Cynthia K"—favourite riding-mare of former Mrs. Karslake,
who is once again to enter the arena of matrimony with the
well-known and highly respected judge of—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Sensitive and much disturbed.</i>] Don't! Don't,
Philip, please don't!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> My dear Cynthia—take another paper—here's my
<i>Post</i>! You'll find nothing disagreeable in <i>The Post</i>.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>takes paper.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>After reading, near the table.</i>] It's much worse in
<i>The Post</i>. "John Karslake sells the former Mrs. Karslake's
jewels—the famous necklace now at Tiffany's, and the sporty
ex-husband sells his wife's portrait by Sargent!" Philip, I can't
stand this. [<i>Puts paper on the table.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Really, my dear, Mr. Karslake is bound to appear
occasionally in print—or even you may have to meet him.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[Thomas <i>comes in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Determined and distressed.</i>] I won't meet him! I
won't meet him. Every time I hear his name or "Cynthia K's"
I'm so depressed.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_624" id="Page_624"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Announcing with something like reluctance.</i>] Sir, Mr.
Fiddler. Mr. Karslake's trainer.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Fiddler</span> <i>walks in. He is an English horse trainer, a wide-awake,
stocky, well-groomed little cockney. He knows his own mind and
sees life altogether through a stable door. Well-dressed for his
station, and not too young.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Excited and disturbed.</i>] Fiddler? Tim Fiddler?
His coming is outrageous!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> A note for you, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Impulsively.</i>] Oh, Fiddler—is that you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes'm!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>In a half whisper, still speaking on impulse.</i>] How
is she! Cynthia K? How's Planet II and the colt and Golden
Rod? How's the whole stable? Are they well?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> No'm—we're all on the bum. [<i>Aside.</i>] Ever since
you kicked us over!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Reproving him, though pleased.</i>] Fiddler!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> The horses is just simply gone to Egypt since you
left, and so's the guv'nor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Putting an end to</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>.] That will do, Fiddler.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> I'm waiting for an answer, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What is it, Philip?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Uncomfortable.</i>] A mere matter of business. [<i>Aside
to</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>.] The answer is, Mr. Karslake can come. The—the
coast will be clear. [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span> <i>goes out.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Amazed; rising.</i>] You're not going to see him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> But Karslake, my dear, is an old acquaintance of
mine. He argues cases before me. I will see that you do not have
to meet him.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>walks the length of the room in excited dejection.</i></p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>comes in. He is a High-church clergyman to a highly
fashionable congregation. His success is partly due to his social
position and partly to his elegance of speech, but chiefly to his
inherent amiability, which leaves the sinner in happy peace
and smiles on the just and unjust alike.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Most amiably.</i>] Ah, my dear brother!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Greeting him.</i>] Matthew.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Nodding to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Good afternoon, my dear
Cynthia. How charming you look! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>sits down at the</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_625" id="Page_625"></SPAN></span>
<i>tea-table. To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Ah, why weren't you in your pew
yesterday? I preached a most original sermon.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He lays his hat and cane on the divan.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Sir, Mrs. Vida Phillimore's maid
called you up on the telephone, and you're to expect Mrs. Phillimore
on a matter of business.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Astonished and disgusted.</i>] Here, impossible! [<i>To</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Excuse me, my dear! [<span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>much embarrassed,
goes out, followed by</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Approaching</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia's</span> <i>chair, happily and
pleasantly self-important.</i>] No, really, it was a wonderful sermon,
my dear. My text was from Paul—"It is better to marry than to
burn." It was a strictly logical sermon. I argued—that, as the
grass withereth, and the flower fadeth,—there is nothing final in
Nature; not even Death! And, as there is nothing final in
Nature, not even Death;—so then if Death is not final—why
should marriage be final? [<i>Gently.</i>] And so the necessity of—eh—divorce!
You see? It was an exquisite sermon! All New York
was there! And all New York went away happy! Even the
sinners—if there were any! I don't often meet sinners—do you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Indulgently, in spite of his folly, because he is kind.</i>]
You're such a dear, delightful Pagan! Here's your tea!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Taking the tea.</i>] Why, my dear—you have a very
sad expression!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>A little bitterly.</i>] Why not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>With sentimental sweetness.</i>] I feel as if I were of
no use in the world when I see sadness on a young face. Only
sinners should feel sad. You have committed no sin!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Impulsively.</i>] Yes, I have!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I committed the unpardonable sin—whe—when I
married for love!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> One must not marry for anything else, my dear!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why am I marrying your brother?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> I often wonder why? I wonder why you didn't
choose to remain a free woman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Going over the ground she has often argued with herself.</i>]
I meant to; but a divorcée has no place in society. I felt
horridly lonely! I wanted a friend. Philip was ideal as a friend—for
months. Isn't it nice to bind a friend to you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Setting down his teacup.</i>] Yes—yes!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_626" id="Page_626"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Growing more and more excited and moved as she
speaks.</i>] To marry a friend—to marry on prudent, sensible
grounds—a man—like Philip? That's what I should have done
first, instead of rushing into marriage—because I had a wild, mad,
sensitive, sympathetic—passion and pain and fury—of, I don't
know what—that almost strangled me with happiness!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Amiable and reminiscent.</i>] Ah—ah—in my
youth—I,—I too!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Coming back to her manner of every day.</i>] And besides—the
day Philip asked me I was in the dumps! And now—how
about marrying only for love? [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>comes back.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Ah, my dear, love is not the only thing in the
world!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Half aside.</i>] I got there too late, she'd hung up.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Who, Philip?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Eh—a lady—eh—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>, <i>flurried, comes in with a card on a salver.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> A card for you, sir. Ahem—ahem—Mrs. Phillimore—that
was, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> She's on the stairs, sir. [<i>He nods backward, only to
find</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>at his side. He announces her as being the best way of
meeting the difficulty.</i>] Mrs. Vida Phillimore!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>comes in slowly, with the air of a spoiled beauty. She stops
just inside the door and speaks in a very casual manner. Her
voice is languorous and caressing. She is dressed in the excess
of the French fashion and carries a daring parasol. She smiles
and comes in, undulating, to the middle of the room. Tableau.</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>withdraws.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> How do you do, Philip. [<i>After a pause.</i>] Don't tell
me I'm a surprise! I had you called up on the 'phone and I sent
up my card—and, besides, Philip dear, when you have the—the—habit
of the house, as unfortunately I have, you can't treat yourself
like a stranger in a strange land. At least, I can't—so here I
am. My reason for coming was to ask you about that B. & O.
stock we hold in common. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>condescendingly, the
clergy being a class of unfortunates debarred by profession from the
pleasures of the world.</i>] How do you do? [<i>Pause. She then goes
to the real reason of her visit.</i>] Do be polite and present me to
your wife-to-be.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_627" id="Page_627"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Awkwardly.</i>] Cynthia—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Cheerfully, with dash, putting the table between</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>
<i>and herself.</i>] We're delighted to see you, Mrs. Phillimore. I
needn't ask you to make yourself at home, but will you have a
cup of tea? [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>sits near the little table.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] My dear, she's not in the least what I
expected. I heard she was a dove! She's a very dashing kind of
a dove! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>who moves to the tea-table.</i>] My dear, I'm
paying you compliments. Five lumps and quantities of cream.
I find single life very thinning. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>calm and ready to be
agreeable to any man.</i>] And how well you're looking! It must be
the absence of matrimonial cares—or is it a new angel in the
house?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Outraged at</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>intrusion, but polite though delicately
sarcastic.</i>] It's most amusing to sit in your place. And
how at home you must feel here in this house where you have
made so much trouble—I mean tea. [<i>Rises.</i>] Do you know it
would be in much better taste if you would take the place you're
accustomed to?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>As calm as before.</i>] My dear, I'm an intruder only for
a moment; I sha'n't give you a chance to score off me again!
But I must thank you, dear Philip, for rendering that decision in
my favour—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I assure you—</p>
<p>Vida. [<i>Unable to resist a thrust.</i>] Of course, you would like to
have rendered it against me. It was your wonderful sense of justice,
and that's why I'm so grateful—if not to you, to your
Maker!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Feels that this is no place for his future wife. Rises
quickly. To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Cynthia, I would prefer that you left us.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>moves to the sofa and sits down.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Determined not to leave the field first, remains seated.</i>]
Certainly, Philip!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I expect another visitor who—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With flattering insistence, to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Oh, my dear—don't
go! The truth is—I came to see you! I feel most cordially
towards you—and really, you know, people in our position should
meet on cordial terms.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Taking it with apparent calm, but pointing her remarks.</i>]
Naturally. If people in our position couldn't meet, New
York society would soon come to an end. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_628" id="Page_628"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Calm, but getting her knife in too.</i>] Precisely. Society's
no bigger than a band-box. Why, it's only a moment ago I saw
Mr. Karslake walking—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Announcing clearly. Everyone changes place, in consternation,
amusement or surprise.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves to leave the
room, but stops for fear of attracting</i> <span class="smcap">Karslake's</span> <i>attention.</i>] Mr.
John Karslake!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Karslake</span>. <i>He is a powerful, generous personality, a man
of affairs, breezy, gay and careless. He gives the impression of
being game for any fate in store for him. His clothes indicate
sporting propensities and his taste in waistcoats and ties is
brilliant.</i> <span class="smcap">Karslake</span> <i>sees first</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>and then</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes out.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> How do you do?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Very gay and no respecter of persons.</i>] Good-afternoon,
Mr. Phillimore. Hello—here's the church! [<i>Crossing to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>
<i>and shaking hands. He slaps him on the back.</i>] I hadn't the
least idea—how are you? By George, your reverence, that was a
racy sermon of yours on Divorce! What was your text? [<i>Sees</i>
<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and bows, very politely.</i>] Galatians 4:2, "The more the
merrier," or "Who next?" [<i>Smiles.</i>] As the whale said after
Jonah! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>makes a sudden movement, upsetting her tea-cup.</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>faces about quickly and they face each other.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>gives a
frank start. A pause holds them.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Astounded, in a low voice.</i>] Mrs. Karslake— [<i>Bowing.</i>]
I was not aware of the pleasure in store for me. I understood
you were in the country. [<i>Recovering and moving to her chair.</i>]
Perhaps you'll be good enough to make me a cup of tea?—that is
if the teapot wasn't lost in the scrimmage. [<i>There is another
pause.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>determined to equal him in coolness, returns to
the tea-tray.</i>] Mr. Phillimore, I came to get your signature in
that matter of Cox <i>vs.</i> Keely.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I shall be at your service, but pray be seated.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He indicates a chair by the tea-table.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Sitting beyond but not far from the tea-table.</i>] And I also
understood you to say you wanted a saddle-horse.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You have a mare called—eh—"Cynthia K?"</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Promptly.</i>] Yes—she's not for sale.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Oh, but she's just the mare I had set my mind on.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_629" id="Page_629"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>With a touch of humour.</i>] You want her for
yourself?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>A little flustered.</i>] I—eh—I sometimes ride.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Now sure of himself.</i>] She's rather lively for you,
Judge. Mrs. Karslake used to ride her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You don't care to sell her to me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> She's a dangerous mare, Judge, and she's as delicate
and changeable as a girl. I'd hate to leave her in your
charge!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Eagerly but in a low voice.</i>] Leave her in mine, Mr.
Karslake!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>After a slight pause.</i>] Mrs. Karslake knows all about
a horse, but— [<i>Turning to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Cynthia K's got rather
tricky of late.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Haughtily.</i>] You mean to say you think she'd
chuck me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>With polite solicitude and still humourous. To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.]
I'd hate to have a mare of mine deprive you of a wife, Judge.
[<i>Rises.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>shows anger.</i>] She goes to Saratoga next
week, C. W.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Who has been sitting and talking to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>for lack
of a better man, comes to talk to</i> <span class="smcap">Karslake</span>.] C. W.?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Rising as she rises.</i>] Creditors willing.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Changing her seat for one near the tea-table.</i>] I'm sure
your creditors are willing.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, they're a breezy lot, my creditors. They're giving
me a dinner this evening.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>More than usually anxious to please.</i>] I regret I'm not
a breezy creditor, but I do think you owe it to me to let me see
your Cynthia K! Can't you lead her around to my house?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> At what hour, Mrs. Phillimore?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Say eleven? And you, too, might have a leading in my
direction—771 Fifth Avenue.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>bows.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>hears and notes this.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Thanks. [<i>Taking his tea and sipping it.</i>] I beg your
pardon—you have forgotten, Mrs. Karslake—very naturally, it
has slipped your memory, but I don't take sugar. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>,
<i>furious with him and herself. He hands the cup back. She makes
a second cup.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Cheerfully; in a rage.</i>] Sorry!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_630" id="Page_630"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Also apparently cheerful.</i>] Yes, gout. It gives me a
twinge even to sit in the shadow of a sugar-maple! First you riot,
and then you diet!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Calm and amused; aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.] My dear
Matthew, he's a darling! But I feel as if we were all taking tea
on the slope of a volcano! [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>sits down.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to
find a purchaser for your portrait by Sargent?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> It's not <i>my</i> portrait. It's a portrait of Mrs. Karslake,
and to tell you the truth—Sargent's a good fellow—I've made up
my mind to keep it—to remember the artist by.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>is wounded by this.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> H'm!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>hands a second cup to</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With careful politeness.</i>] Your cup of tea, Mr.
Karslake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Rising and taking the tea with courteous indifference.</i>]
Thanks—sorry to trouble you.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>To make conversation.</i>] You're selling your country
place?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> If I was long of hair—I'd sell that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Excited. Taken out of herself by the news.</i>] You're
not really selling your stable?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Finishes his tea, places the empty cup on the tea-table,
and reseats himself.</i>] Every gelding I've got—seven foals and a
donkey! I don't mean the owner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the
situation.</i>] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Streak of blue luck!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Quickly.</i>] I don't see how it's possible—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You would if you'd been there. You remember the
head man? [<i>Sitting down.</i>] Bloke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Of course!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, his wife divorced him for beating her over the
head with a bottle of Fowler's Solution, and it seemed to prey on
his mind. He sold me—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Horrified.</i>] Sold a race?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> About ten races, I guess.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Incredulous.</i>] Just because he'd beaten his wife?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No. Because she divorced him.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_631" id="Page_631"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Well, I can't see why that should prey on his mind!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Suddenly remembers.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, I have known men that it stroked the wrong
way. But he cost me eighty thousand. And then Urbanity ran
third in the thousand-dollar stakes for two-year-olds at Belmont.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Throws this remark in.</i>] I never had faith in that
horse.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And, of course, it never rains monkeys but it pours
gorillas! So when I was down at St. Louis on the fifth, I laid
seven to three on Fraternity—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Crazy! Crazy!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Ready to take the opposite view.</i>] I don't see it. With
her record she ought to have romped it an easy winner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her sporting instinct asserting itself.</i>] She hasn't
the stamina! Look at her barrel!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, anyhow, Geranium finished me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You didn't lay odds on Geranium!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why not? She's my own mare—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Streak o' bad luck—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Plainly anxious to say "I told you so."</i>] Streak of
poor judgment! Do you remember the day you rode Billy at a
six-foot stone wall, and he stopped and you didn't, and there was
a hornet's nest [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>rises.</i>] on the other side, and I remember
you were hot just because I said you showed poor judgment?
[<i>She laughs at the memory. A general movement of disapproval.
She remembers the situation.</i>] I beg your pardon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Rises to meet</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>. <i>Hastily.</i>] It seems to me
that horses are like the fourth gospel. Any conversation about
them becomes animated almost beyond the limits of the urbane!
[<span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>disgusted by such plainness of speech, rises and goes to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>
<i>who waves her to a chair.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Formally.</i>] I regret that you have endured such
reverses, Mr. Karslake. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>quietly bows.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Concealing her interest and speaking casually.</i>] You
haven't mentioned your new English horse—Pantomime. What
did he do at St. Louis?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Sitting down.</i>] Fell away and ran fifth.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Too bad. Was he fully acclimated? Ah, well—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> We always differed—you remember—on the time
needed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_632" id="Page_632"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Coming over to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>and speaking to carry off
the situation as well as to get a tip.</i>] Isn't there a—eh—a race to-morrow
at Belmont Park?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Yes. I'm going down in my auto.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Evidently wishing she might be going too.</i>] Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> And what animal shall you prefer?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Covering his personal interest with amiable altruism.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I'm backing Carmencita.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With a gesture of despair.</i>] Carmencita! Carmencita!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>returns to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>side.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You may remember we always differed on Carmencita.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Disgusted at</i> <span class="smcap">John's</span> <i>dunderheadedness.</i>] But there's
no room for difference. She's a wild, headstrong, dissatisfied,
foolish little filly. The deuce couldn't ride her—she'd shy at her
own shadow—"Carmencita." Oh, very well then, I'll wager
you—and I'll give you odds too—"Decorum" will come in first,
and I'll lay three to one he'll beat Carmencita by five lengths!
How's that for fair?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Never forgetting the situation.</i>] Sorry I'm not flush
enough to take you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Impetuously.</i>] Philip, dear, you lend John enough
for the wager.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>As nearly horrified as so soft a soul can be.</i>] Ahem!
Really—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> It's a sporty idea, Mrs. Karslake, but perhaps in the
circumstances—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her mind on her wager.</i>] In what circumstances?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>With a nervous laugh.</i>] It does seem to me there is a
certain impropriety—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Remembering the conventions, which, for a moment,
had actually escaped her.</i>] Oh, I forgot. When horses are in the
air—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Pouring oil on troubled waters. Moving, he speaks
to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>from the back of her armchair.</i>] It's the fourth gospel, you
see. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in with a letter on a salver, which he hands to</i>
<span class="smcap">Philip.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Meekly.</i>] You are quite right, Philip. [<span class="smcap">Philip</span>
<i>goes up.</i>] The fact is, seeing Mr. Karslake again [<i>Laying on her
indifference with a trowel.</i>] he seems to me as much a stranger as
if I were meeting him for the first time.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_633" id="Page_633"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] We are indeed taking tea on the
slope of a volcano.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>About to go, but thinking she will have a last word with</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span>.] I'm sorry your fortunes are so depressed, Mr. Karslake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Looking at the card that</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>has just brought in.</i>]
Who in the world is Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>There is a general stir.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh—eh—Cates-Darby? [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>opens the letter which</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>has brought with the card.</i>] That's the English chap I
bought Pantomime of.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.] Show Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby in.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes out. The prospect of an Englishman with a handle
to his name changes</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>plans and, instead of leaving the
house, she goes to sofa, and poses there.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> He's a good fellow, Judge. Place near Epsom. Breeder.
Over here to take a shy at our races.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Opening the door and announcing.</i>] Sir Wilfrid
Cates-Darby.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby</span>. <i>He is a high-bred, sporting
Englishman. His manner, his dress and his diction are the perfection
of English elegance. His movements are quick and graceful.
He talks lightly and with ease. He is full of life and unsmiling
good temper.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>and referring to the letter of introduction
in his hand.</i>] I am Mr. Phillimore. I am grateful to Stanhope
for giving me the opportunity of knowing you, Sir Wilfrid.
I fear you find it warm?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Delicately mopping his forehead.</i>] Ah, well—ah—warm,
no—hot, yes! Deuced extraordinary climate yours,
you know, Mr. Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Conventionally.</i>] Permit me to present you to— [<i>The
unconventional situation pulls him up short. It takes him a
moment to decide how to meet it. He makes up his mind to pretend
that everything is as usual, and presents</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>first.</i>] Mrs.
Karslake.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>bows, surprised and doubtful.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> How do you do?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> And to Mrs. Phillimore. [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>bows nonchalantly,
but with a view to catching</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid's</span> <i>attention.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_634" id="Page_634"></SPAN></span></span>
<i>bows, and looks from her to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] My brother—and Mr.
Karslake you know.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> How do, my boy. [<i>Half aside, to</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] No
idea you had such a charming little wife—What?—Eh?
[<span class="smcap">Karslake</span> <i>moves to speak to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>in the further
room.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You'll have a cup of tea, Sir Wilfrid?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>At the table.</i>] Thanks, awfully. [<i>Very cheerfully.</i>]
I'd no idea old John had a wife! The rascal never told
me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Pouring tea and facing the facts.</i>] I'm not Mr.
Karslake's wife!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh!—Eh?—I see—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He is evidently trying to think this out.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Who has been ready for some time to speak to him.</i>] Sir
Wilfrid, I'm sure no one has asked you how you like our
country?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Going to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and standing by her at the sofa.</i>]
Oh, well, as to climate and horses, I say nothing. But I like your
American humour. I'm acquiring it for home purposes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Getting down to love as the basis of conversation.</i>] Aren't
you going to acquire an American girl for home purposes?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> The more narrowly I look the agreeable project
in the face, the more I like it. Oughtn't to say that in the presence
of your husband. [<i>He casts a look at</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>who has gone into
the next room.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Cheerful and unconstrained.</i>] He's not my husband!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Completely confused.</i>] Oh—eh?—my brain
must be boiled. You are—Mrs.—eh—ah—of course, now I see!
I got the wrong names! I thought you were Mrs. Phillimore.
[<i>Sitting down by her.</i>] And that nice girl, Mrs. Karslake! You're
deucedly lucky to be Mrs. Karslake. John's a prime sort. I say,
have you and he got any kids? How many?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Horrified at being suspected of maternity, but speaking
very sweetly.</i>] He's not my husband.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>His good spirits all gone, but determined to clear
things up.</i>] Phew! Awfully hot in here! Who the deuce is
John's wife?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> He hasn't any.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Who's Phillimore's wife?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> He hasn't any.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_635" id="Page_635"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Thanks, fearfully! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>whom he
approaches; suspecting himself of having lost his wits.</i>] Would you
excuse me, my dear and Reverend Sir—you're a churchman and
all that—would you mind straightening me out?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Most graciously.</i>] Certainly, Sir Wilfrid. Is it a
matter of doctrine?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, damme—beg your pardon,—no, it's not
words, it's women.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Ready to be outraged.</i>] Women!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> It's divorce. Now, the lady on the
sofa—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> <i>Was</i> my brother's wife; he divorced her—incompatibility—Rhode
Island. The lady at the tea-table <i>was</i> Mr.
Karslake's wife; she divorced him—desertion—Sioux Falls.
One moment—she is about to marry my brother.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Cheerful again.</i>] I'm out! Thought I never
would be! Thanks! [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>laughs.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Not a whit discountenanced and ready to please.</i>] Have
you got me straightened out yet?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Straight as a die! I say, you had lots of fun,
didn't you? [<i>Returning to his position by the sofa.</i>] And so <i>she's</i>
Mrs. John Karslake?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Calm, but secretly disappointed.</i>] Do you like her?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> My word!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Fully expecting personal flattery.</i>] Eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> She's a box o' ginger!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> You haven't seen many American women!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, haven't I?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> If you'll pay me a visit to-morrow—at twelve, you shall
meet a most charming young woman, who has seen you once, and
who admires you—ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I'm there—what!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Seven hundred and seventy-one Fifth Avenue.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Seven seventy-one Fifth Avenue—at twelve.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> At twelve.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Thanks! [<i>Indicating</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] She's a
thoroughbred—you can see that with one eye shut. Twelve.
[<i>Shaking hands.</i>] Awfully good of you to ask me. [<i>He joins</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span>.] I say, my boy, your former's an absolute certainty.
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] I hear you're about to marry Mr. Phillimore,
Mrs. Karslake?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_636" id="Page_636"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Karslake</span> <i>crosses to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and together they move to the sofa and
sit down.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> To-morrow, 3 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span>, Sir Wilfrid.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Much taken with</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Afraid I've run
into a sort of family party, eh? [<i>Indicating</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] The Past and
the Future—awfully chic way you Americans have of asking your
divorced husbands and wives to drop in, you know—celebrate a
christenin', or the new bride, or—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Do you like your tea strong?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Middlin'.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Sugar?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> One!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Lemon?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Just torture a lemon over it. [<i>He makes a gesture
as of twisting a lemon peel. She hands him his tea.</i>] Thanks!
So you do it to-morrow at three?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> At three, Sir Wilfrid.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Sorry!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why are you sorry?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Hate to see a pretty woman married. Might
marry her myself.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, but I'm sure you don't admire American
women.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Admire you, Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Not enough to marry me, I hope.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Marry you in a minute! Say the word. Marry
you now—here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You don't think you ought to know me a little
before—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Know you? Do know you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Covering her hair with her handkerchief.</i>] What
colour is my hair?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Pshaw!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You see! You don't know whether I'm a chestnut
or a strawberry roan! In the States we think a few months of
friendship is quite necessary.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Few months of moonshine! Never was a friend
to a woman—thank God, in all my life.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh—oh, oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Might as well talk about being a friend to a
whiskey-and-soda.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_637" id="Page_637"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> A woman has a soul, Sir Wilfrid.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Well, good whiskey is spirits—dozens o'
souls!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You are so gross!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Changing his seat for one at the tea-table.</i>] Gross?
Not a bit! Friendship between the sexes is all fudge! I'm no
friend to a rose in my garden. I don't call it friendship—eh—eh—a
warm, starry night, moonbeams and ilex trees, "and a spirit
who knows how" and all that—eh— [<i>Getting closer to her.</i>]
You make me feel awfully poetical, you know— [<span class="smcap">Philip</span>
<i>comes toward them, glances nervously at</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>,
<i>and walks away again.</i>] What's the matter? But, I say—poetry
aside—do you, eh—— [<i>Looking around to place</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Does
he—y'know—is he—does he go to the head?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Sir Wilfrid, Mr. Phillimore is my sober second
choice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Did you ever kiss him? I'll bet he fined you for
contempt of court. Look here, Mrs. Karslake, if you're marryin'
a man you don't care about—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Amused and excusing his audacity as a foreigner's
eccentricity.</i>] Really!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Well, I don't offer myself—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Not this instant—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> But let me drop in to-morrow at ten.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What country and state of affairs do you think you
have landed in?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> New York, by Jove! Been to school, too. New
York is bounded on the North, South, East and West by the
state of Divorce! Come, come, Mrs. Karslake, I like your
country. You've no fear and no respect—no cant and lots of can.
Here you all are, you see—your former husband, and your new
husband's former wife—sounds like Ollendoff! Eh? So there
you are, you see! But, jokin' apart—why do you marry him?
Oh, well, marry him if you must! You can run around the corner
and get a divorce afterwards—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I believe you think they throw one in with an ice-cream
soda!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Rising.</i>] Damme, my dear lady, a marriage in
your country is no more than a—eh—eh—what do you call 'em?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_638" id="Page_638"></SPAN></span>
A thank you, ma'am. That's what an American marriage is—a
thank you, ma'am. Bump—bump—you're over it and on to the
next.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You're an odd fish! What? I believe I like you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> 'Course you do! You'll see me when I call to-morrow—at
ten? We'll run down to Belmont Park, eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Don't be absurd!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Has finished her talk with</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>and breaks in on</i> <span class="smcap">Sir
Wilfrid</span>, <i>who has hung about</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>too long to suit her.</i>] To-morrow
at twelve, Sir Wilfrid!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Twelve!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Shaking hands with</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Don't forget, Mr. Karslake—eleven
o'clock to-morrow.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Bowing assent.</i>] I won't!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Coming over to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Oh, Mrs. Karslake, I've
ordered Tiffany to send you something. It's a sugar-bowl to
sweeten the matrimonial lot! I suppose nothing would induce
you to call?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Distantly and careless of offending.</i>] Thanks, no—that
is, is "Cynthia K" really to be there at eleven? I'd give a
gold mine to see her again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Do come!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> If Mr. Karslake will accommodate me by his
absence.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Dear Mr. Karslake, you'll have to change your
hour.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Sorry, I'm not able to.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I can't come later for I'm to be married.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> It's not as bad as that with me, but I am to be sold up—Sheriff,
you know. Can't come later than eleven.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Any hour but eleven, dear.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Perfectly regardless of</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>and ready to vex</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>if possible.</i>] Mrs. Phillimore, I shall call on you at eleven—to
see Cynthia K. I thank you for the invitation. Good-afternoon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>crossing to speak quietly to him.</i>] It's
mere bravado; she won't come.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You don't know her.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>There is a pause and general embarrassment.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>uses
his eye-glass.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>angry.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>triumphant.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>
<i>embarrassed.</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>irritated.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>puzzled. Everybody is at
odds.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_639" id="Page_639"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>For the first time a witness to the pretty complications
of divorce. To</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.] Do you have it as warm as this
ordinarily?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>For whom these moments are more than usually
painful, and wiping his brow.</i>] It's not so much the heat as the
humidity.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Looks at watch and, relieved, glad to be off.</i>] I shall be
late for my creditors' dinner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Interested and walking toward</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Creditors'
dinner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Reading the note.</i>] Fifteen of my sporting creditors
have arranged to give me a blow-out at Sherry's, and I'm
expected right away or sooner. And, by the way, I was to bring
my friends—if I had any. So now's the time to stand by me!
Mrs. Phillimore?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Of course!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Ready to embarrass</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>if possible, and speaking
as if he had quite forgotten their former relations.</i>] Mrs. Karslake—I
beg your pardon. Judge? [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>declines.</i>] No? Sir Wilfrid?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I'm with you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.] Your Grace?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> I regret—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Is it the custom for creditors—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Come on, Sir Wilfrid! [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>opens door.</i>] Good-night,
Judge—Your Grace—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Is it the custom—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Hang the custom! Come on—I'll show you a gang of
creditors worth having!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>go out, arm in arm, preceded by</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.
<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>crosses the room, smiling, as if pleased, in a Christian
way, with this display of generous gaiety. He stops short suddenly
and looks at his watch.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Good gracious! I had no idea the hour was so
late. I've been asked to a meeting with Maryland and Iowa, to
talk over the divorce situation. [<i>He leaves the room quickly and
his voice is heard in the hall.</i>] Good-afternoon! Good-afternoon!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>is evidently much excited. The outer door slams.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>
<i>comes down slowly.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>stands, her eyes wide, her
breathing visible, until</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>speaks, when she seems suddenly
to realize her position. There is a long pause.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_640" id="Page_640"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>With a superior air.</i>] I have seldom witnessed a more
amazing cataclysm of jocundity! Of course, my dear, this has
all been most disagreeable for you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Excitedly.</i>] Yes, yes, yes!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I saw how much it shocked your delicacy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Distressed and moved.</i>] Outrageous.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>sits down.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Do be seated, Cynthia. [<i>Taking up the paper.
Quietly.</i>] Very odd sort of an Englishman—that Cates-Darby!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Sir Wilfrid?—Oh, yes! [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>settles down to the
paper. To herself.</i>] Outrageous! I've a great mind to go at
eleven—just as I said I would!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Do sit down, Cynthia!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What? What?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You make me so nervous—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Sorry—sorry. [<i>She sits down and, seeing the paper,
takes it, looking at the picture of</i> <span class="smcap">John Karslake</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Sighing with content.</i>] Ah! now that I see him, I don't
wonder you couldn't stand him. There's a kind of—ah—spontaneous
inebriety about him. He is incomprehensible! If I
might with reverence cross-question the Creator, I would say to
him: "Sir, to what end or purpose did you create Mr. John
Karslake?" I believe I should obtain no adequate answer! However,
[<i>Sighs.</i>] at last we have peace—and <i>The Post</i>! [<span class="smcap">Philip</span>,
<i>settling himself, reads his paper;</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>glancing at her paper,
occasionally looks across at</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Forget the dust of the arena—the
prolixity of counsel—the involuntary fatuity of things in
general. [<i>After a pause, he goes on with his reading.</i>] Compose
yourself!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>, <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>come in.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>sighs without letting her sigh be heard. She tries to compose
herself. She glances at the paper and then, hearing</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>,
<i>starts slightly.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>
<i>stop at the table.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Carrying a sheet of paper.</i>] There, my dear
Mary, is the announcement as I have now reworded it. I took
William's suggestion. [<span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>takes and casually
reads it.</i>] I also put the case to him, and he was of the opinion
that the announcement should be sent <i>only</i> to those people who<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_641" id="Page_641"></SPAN></span>
are really <i>in</i> society. [<i>She sits near the table.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>braces herself
to bear the</i> <span class="smcap">Phillimore</span> <i>conversation.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I wish you'd make an exception of the Dudleys.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>rises and moves to the chair by the table.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> And, of course, that excludes the Oppenheims—the
Vance-Browns.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> It's just as well to be exclusive.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I do wish you'd make an exception of Lena
Dudley.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> We might, of course, include those new
Girardos, and possibly—possibly the Paddingtons.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I do wish you would take in Lena Dudley.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>They are now sitting.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> The mother Dudley is as common as a
charwoman, and not nearly as clean.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Sighing, his own feelings, as usual, to the fore.</i>] Ah!
I certainly am fatigued!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>begins to slowly crush the newspaper she has been reading
with both hands, as if the effort of self-repression were too much
for her.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Making the best of a gloomy future.</i>] We shall
have to ask the Dudleys sooner or later to dine, Mary—because
of the elder girl's marriage to that dissolute French Marquis.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Plaintively.</i>] I don't like common people
any more than I like common cats, and of course in my time—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> I think I shall include the Dudleys.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> You think you'll include the Dudleys?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Yes, I think I will include the Dudleys!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Here</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia's</span> <i>control breaks down. Driven desperate by their
chatter, she has slowly rolled her newspaper into a ball, and at
this point tosses it violently to the floor and bursts into hysterical
laughter.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> Why, my dear Cynthia—Compose yourself.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Hastily.</i>] What is the matter, Cynthia?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>They speak together.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Why, Mrs. Karslake, what is the matter?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Coming quickly forward.</i>] Mrs. Karslake!</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Curtain.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_642" id="Page_642"></SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="ACT_II" id="ACT_II"></SPAN>ACT II.</h2>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Vida Phillimore's</span> <i>boudoir. The room is furnished
to please an empty-headed, pleasure-loving and fashionable
woman. The furniture, the ornaments, what pictures there are,
all witness to taste up-to-date. Two French windows open on to a
balcony, from which the trees of Central Park can be seen. There
is a table between them; a mirror, a scent bottle, &c., upon it. On
the right, up stage, is a door; on the right, down stage, another
door. A lady's writing-table stands between the two, nearer centre
of stage. There is another door up stage; below it, an open fireplace,
filled with potted plants, andirons, &c., not in use. Over it
is a tall mirror; on the mantel-piece are a French clock, candelabra,
vases, &c. On a line with the fireplace is a lounge, gay with silk
pillows. A florist's box, large and long, filled with American
Beauty roses, rests on a low table near the head of the lounge.
Small tables and light chairs where needed.</i></p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Benson</span>, <i>alone in the room, is looking critically about her. She is
a neat and pretty little English lady's maid in black silk and a
thin apron. Still surveying the room, she moves here and there,
and, her eyes lighting on the box of flowers, she goes to the door of</i>
<span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>room and speaks to her.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> Yes, ma'am, the flowers have come.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>She holds open the door through which</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>in a morning gown,
comes in slowly. She is smoking a cigarette in as æsthetic a
manner as she can, and is evidently turned out in her best style
for conquest.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Faces the balcony as she speaks, and is, as always,
even and civil, but a bit disdainful toward her servant.</i>] Terribly
garish light, Benson. Pull down the— [<span class="smcap">Benson</span>, <i>obeying, partly
pulls down the shade.</i>] Lower still—that will do. [<i>As she speaks
she goes about the room, giving the tables a push here and the chairs a
jerk there, and generally arranging the vases and ornaments.</i>] Men
hate a clutter of chairs and tables. [<i>Stopping and taking up a
hand mirror from the table, she faces the windows.</i>] I really think
I'm too pale for this light.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Quickly, understanding what is implied.</i>] Yes,
ma'am. [<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>goes out for the rouge, and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>seats herself at
the table. There is a knock at the door.</i>] Come! [<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>comes
in.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_643" id="Page_643"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>An ultra-English footman, in plush and calves.</i>] Any
horders, m'lady?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Incapable of remembering the last man, or of considering
the new one.</i>] Oh,—of course! You're the new—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> Footman, m'lady.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>As a matter of form.</i>] Your name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> Brooks, m'lady. [<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>returns with the
rouge.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Carefully giving instructions while she keeps her eyes on
the glass and is rouged by</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Brooks, I am at home to Mr.
Karslake at eleven; not to any one else till twelve, when I expect
Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span>, <i>watching</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>, <i>is inattentive.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> Yes, m'lady.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Calm, but wearied by the ignorance of the lower classes.</i>]
And I regret to inform you, Brooks, that in America there are no
ladies, except salesladies!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>Without a trace of comprehension.</i>] Yes, m'lady.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> I am at home to no one but the two names I have mentioned.
[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>bows and exits. She dabs on rouge while</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>
<i>holds glass.</i>] Is the men's club-room in order?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> Perfectly, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Whiskey and soda?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> Yes, ma'am, and the ticker's been mended. The
British sporting papers arrived this morning.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Looking at her watch which lies on the dressing-table.</i>]
My watch has stopped.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Glancing at the French clock on the chimney-piece.</i>]
Five to eleven, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Getting promptly to work.</i>] H'm, h'm, I shall be caught.
[<i>Rising.</i>] The box of roses, Benson! [<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>brings the box of
roses, uncovers the flowers and places them at</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>side.</i>] My
gloves—the clippers, and the vase! [<i>Each of these things</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>
<i>places in turn within</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>range where she sits on the sofa. She
has the long box of roses at her side on a small table, a vase of water
on the floor by her side. She cuts the stems and places the roses in the
vase. When she feels that she has reached a picturesque position, in
which any onlooker would see in her a creature filled with the love of
flowers and of her fellow man, she says:</i>] There! [<i>The door opens
and</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>comes in;</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>nods to</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>Announcing stolidly.</i>] Sir John Karslake.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_644" id="Page_644"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>dressed in very nobby riding togs, comes in gaily and forcibly.</i>
<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>withdraws as he enters, and is followed by</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span>.
<span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>from this moment on, is busied with her roses.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Languorously, but with a faint suggestion of humour.</i>]
Is that really you, Sir John?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Lively and far from being impressed by</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] I see now
where we Americans are going to get our titles. Good-morning!
You look as fresh as paint. [<i>He lays his gloves and riding crop on
the table, and takes a chair.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Facing the insinuation with gentle pain.</i>] I hope you
don't mean that? I never flattered myself for a moment you'd
come. You're riding Cynthia K?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Fiddler's going to lead her round here in ten minutes!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Cigars and cigarettes! Scotch?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Indicating a small table.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Scotch! [<i>Goes up quickly to table and helps himself to
Scotch and seltzer.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> And now <i>do</i> tell me all about <i>her</i>! [<i>Putting in her last
roses; she keeps one rosebud in her hand, of a size suitable for a
man's buttonhole.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>As he drinks.</i>] Oh, she's an adorable creature—delicate,
high-bred, sweet-tempered—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Showing her claws for a moment.</i>] Sweet-tempered?
Oh, you're describing the horse! By "her," I meant—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Irritated by the remembrance of his wife.</i>] Cynthia
Karslake? I'd rather talk about the last Tornado.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He drops moodily into a chair.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With artful soothing.</i>] There is only one thing I want
to talk about, and that is, <i>you</i>! Why were you unhappy?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Still cross.</i>] Why does a dollar last such a short
time?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Curious.</i>] Why did you part?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Did you ever see a schooner towed by a tug? Well, I
parted from Cynthia for the same reason that the hawser parts
from the tug—I couldn't stand the tug.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Sympathizing.</i>] Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>After a pause, and still cross.</i>] Awful cheerful morning
chat.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Excusing her curiosity and coming back to love as the
only subject for serious conversation.</i>] I must hear the story, for
I'm anxious to know why I've taken such a fancy to you!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_645" id="Page_645"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Very nonchalantly.</i>] Why do <i>I</i> like you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Doing her best to charm.</i>] I won't tell you—it would
flatter you too much.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Not a bit impressed by</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>but humanly ready to
flirt.</i>] Tell me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> There's a rose for you.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Giving him the one she has in her hand.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Saying what is plainly expected of him.</i>] I want more
than a rose—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Passing over this insinuation.</i>] You refuse to tell
me—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Once more reminded of</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>speaks with sudden
feeling.</i>] There's nothing to tell. We met, we loved, we married,
we parted; or at least we wrangled and jangled. [<i>Sighs.</i>] Ha!
Why weren't we happy? Don't ask me, why! It may have been
<i>partly</i> my fault!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With tenderness.</i>] Never!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>His mind on</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] But I believe it's all in the
way a girl's brought up. Our girls are brought up to be ignorant
of life—they're ignorant of life. Life is a joke, and marriage is a
picnic, and a man is a shawl-strap— 'Pon my soul, Cynthia
Deane—no, I can't tell you! [<i>In great irritation, he rises abruptly,
and strides up and down the room.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Gently.</i>] Please tell me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, she was an heiress, an American heiress—and
she'd been taught to think marriage meant burnt almonds and
moonshine and a yacht and three automobiles, and she thought—I
don't know what she thought, but I tell you, Mrs. Phillimore,
marriage is three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sins.
[<i>He continues restlessly to pace the floor as he speaks of</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Flattering him as a matter of second nature.</i>] She never
loved you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>On whom she has made no impression at all.</i>] Yes, she
did. For six or seven months there was not a shadow between us.
It was perfect, and then one day she went off like a pistol-shot!
I had a piece of law work and couldn't take her to see Flashlight
race the Maryland mare. The case meant a big fee, big Kudos,
and in sails Cynthia, Flashlight-mad! And will I put on my hat
and take her? No—and bang she goes off like a stick o' dynamite—what
did I marry her for?—and words—pretty high words,
until she got mad, when she threw over a chair, and said, oh, well,—marriage<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_646" id="Page_646"></SPAN></span>
was a failure, or it was with me, so I said she'd better try
somebody else. She said she would, and marched out of the room.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Gently sarcastic.</i>] But she came back!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> She came back, but not as you mean. She stood at the
door and said, "Jack, I shall divorce you." Then she came over
to my study-table, dropped her wedding ring on my law papers,
and went out. The door shut, I laughed; the front door slammed,
I damned. [<i>After a silence, moving abruptly to the window.</i>] She
never came back. [<i>He turns away and then, recovering, moves
toward</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>who catches his hands.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Hoping for a contradiction.</i>] She's broken your heart.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Taking a chair by the lounge.</i>] Oh, no!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Encouraged, begins to play the game again.</i>] You'll
never love again!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Speaking to her from the foot of the sofa.</i>] Try me! Try
me! Ah, no, Mrs. Phillimore, I shall laugh, live, love and make
money again! And let me tell you one thing—I'm going to rap
her one over the knuckles. She had a stick of a Connecticut
lawyer, and he—well, to cut a legal story short, since Mrs. Karslake's
been in Europe, I have been quietly testing the validity of
the decree of divorce. Perhaps you don't understand?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Displaying her innate shrewdness.</i>] Oh, about a divorce,
everything!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I shall hear by this evening whether the divorce will
stand or not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> But it's to-day at three she marries—you won't let her
commit bigamy?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Shaking his head.</i>] I don't suppose I'd go as far as
that. It may be the divorce will hold, but anyway I hope never
to see her again.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>He sits down beside her so that their faces are now directly opposite.
Taking advantage of the close range, her eyes, without loss of time,
open a direct fire.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Ah, my poor boy, she has broken your heart. [<i>Believing
that this is her psychological moment, she lays her hand on his arm,
but draws it back as soon as he attempts to take it.</i>] Now don't make
love to me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Bold and amused, but never taken in.</i>] Why not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With immense gentleness.</i>] Because I like you too
much! [<i>More gaily.</i>] I might give in, and take a notion to like
you still more!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_647" id="Page_647"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Please do!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With gush, and determined to be womanly at all hazards.</i>]
Jack, I believe you'd be a lovely lover!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Immensely diverted.</i>] Try me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Not hoping much from his tone.</i>] You charming,
tempting, delightful fellow, I could love you without the least
effort in the world,—but, no!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Playing the game.</i>] Ah, well, now <i>seriously!</i> Between
two people who have <i>suffered</i> and made their own mistakes—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Playing the game too, but not playing it well.</i>] But you
see, you don't <i>really</i> love me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Still ready to say what is expected.</i>] Cynthia—Vida,
no man can sit beside you and look into your eyes without
feeling—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Speaking the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods
don't succeed.</i>] Oh! That's not love! That's simply—well, my
dear Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. And the truth is you
hate Cynthia Karslake with such a whole-hearted hate, that you
haven't a moment to think of any other woman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>With sudden anger.</i>] I hate her!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Very softly and most sweetly.</i>] Jack—Jack, I could be
as foolish about you as—oh, as foolish as anything, my dear!
And perhaps some day—perhaps some day you'll come to me and
say, Vida, I am totally indifferent to Cynthia—and then—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And then?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>The ideal woman in mind.</i>] Then, perhaps, you and I
may join hands and stroll together into the Garden of Eden. It
takes two to find the Garden of Eden, you know—and once we're
on the inside, we'll lock the gate.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Gaily, and seeing straight through her veneer.</i>] And lose
the key under a rose-bush!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Agreeing very softly.</i>] Under a rose-bush! [<i>There is a
very soft knock at which</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>starts up quickly.</i>] Come! [<span class="smcap">Brooks</span>
<i>comes in, with</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>close at his heels.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>Stolid, announces.</i>] My lady—Sir Wilf— [<span class="smcap">Benson</span>
<i>stops him with a sharp movement and turns toward</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>With intention.</i>] Your dressmaker, ma'am. [<span class="smcap">Benson</span>
<i>waves</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>to go and</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>very haughtily complies.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Wonderingly.</i>] My dressmaker, Benson? [<i>With quick
intelligence.</i>] Oh, of course, show her up. Mr. Karslake, you
won't mind for a few minutes using my men's club-room? Benson<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_648" id="Page_648"></SPAN></span>
will show you! You'll find cigars and the ticker, sporting
papers, whiskey; and, if you want anything special, just 'phone
down to my "chef."</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Looking at his watch.</i>] How long?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Very anxious to please.</i>] Half a cigar! Benson will
call you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Practically-minded.</i>] Don't make it too long. You see,
there's my sheriff's sale on at twelve, and those races this afternoon.
Fiddler will be here in ten minutes, remember!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>The door opens.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Run along! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>leaves and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>,
<i>instantly practical, makes a broad gesture to</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Everything
just as it was, Benson! [<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>whisks the roses out of the vase and
replaces them in the box. She gives</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>scissors and empty vases,
and, when</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>finds herself in precisely the same position which
preceded</i> <span class="smcap">John's</span> <i>entrance, she says:</i>] There!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>comes in as</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>takes a rose from basket.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>With characteristic stolidness.</i>] Your ladyship's
dressmaker! M'lady! [<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>in morning suit,
boutonnière, &c.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With tender surprise and busy with the roses.</i>] Is that
really you, Sir Wilfrid! I never flattered myself for an instant
that you'd remember to come.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Moving to the head of the sofa.</i>] Come? 'Course
I come! Keen to come see you. By Jove, you know, you look
as pink and white as a huntin' mornin'.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Ready to make any man as happy as possible.</i>] You'll
smoke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Thanks! [<i>He watches her as she trims and arranges
the flowers.</i>] Awfully long fingers you have! Wish I was
a rose, or a ring, or a pair of shears! I say, d'you ever notice what
a devil of a fellow I am for originality, what? [<i>Unlike</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>is
evidently impressed by her.</i>] You've got a delicate little den up
here! Not so much low livin' and high thinkin', as low lights and
no thinkin' at all, I hope—eh?</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>By this time</i>, <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>has filled a vase with roses and rises to sweep
by him and, if possible, make another charming picture to his eyes.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Gliding gracefully past him.</i>] You don't mind my
moving about?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Impressed.</i>] Not if you don't mind my
watchin'. [<i>Sitting down on the sofa.</i>] And sayin' how wel you do it.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_649" id="Page_649"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> It's most original of you to come here this morning. I
don't quite see why you did.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>She places the roses here and there, as if to see their effect, and leaves
them on a small table near the door through which her visitors
entered.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Admiration.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Sauntering slowly toward the mirror as she speaks.</i>]
Oh, I saw that you admired her! And of course, she did say she
was coming here at eleven! But that was only bravado! She
won't come, and besides, I've given orders to admit no one!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Attempting to dam the stream of her talk which
flows gently but steadily on.</i>] May I ask you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> And, indeed, if she came now, Mr. Karslake has gone,
and her sole object in coming was to make him uncomfortable.
[<i>She moves toward the table, stopping a half minute at the mirror
to see that she looks as she wishes to look.</i>] Very dangerous symptom,
too, that passionate desire to make one's former husband
unhappy! But, I can't believe that your admiration for Cynthia
Karslake is so warm that it led you to pay me this visit a half
hour too early in the hope of seeing—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Rising; most civil, but speaking his mind like a
Briton.</i>] I say, would you mind stopping a moment! [<i>She
smiles.</i>] I'm not an American, you know; I was brought up not
to interrupt. But you Americans, it's different with you! If
somebody didn't interrupt you, you'd go on forever.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Passing him to tantalize.</i>] My point is you come to
see Cynthia—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Believing she means it.</i>] I came hopin' to see—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Provokingly.</i>] Cynthia!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Perfectly single-minded and entirely taken in.</i>]
But I would have come even if I'd known—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Evading him, while he follows.</i>] I don't believe it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Protesting whole-heartedly.</i>] Give you my word
I—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Leading him on.</i>] You're here to see <i>her</i>! And of
course—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Determined to be heard because, after all, he's a
man.</i>] May I have the—eh—the floor? [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>sits down in a
chair.</i>] I was jolly well bowled over with Mrs. Karslake, I admit
that, and I hoped to see her here, but<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_650" id="Page_650"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Talking nonsense and knowing it.</i>] You had another
object in coming. In fact, you came to see Cynthia, and you
came to see me! What I really long to know is, why you wanted
to see <i>me</i>! For, of course, Cynthia's to be married at three!
And, if she wasn't she wouldn't have you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Not intending to wound; merely speaking the
flat truth.</i>] Well, I mean to jolly well ask her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Indignant.</i>] To be your wife?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Why not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Still indignant.</i>] And you came here, to my house—in
order to ask her—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Truthful even on a subtle point.</i>] Oh, but that's
only my first reason for coming, you know.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Concealing her hopes.</i>] Well, now I <i>am</i> curious—what
is the second?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Simply.</i>] Are you feelin' pretty robust?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> I don't know!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Crosses to the buffet.</i>] Will you have something,
and then I'll tell you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Gaily.</i>] Can't I support the news without—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Trying to explain his state of mind, a feat which
he has never been able to accomplish.</i>] Mrs. Phillimore, you see it's
this way. Whenever you're lucky, you're too lucky. Now, Mrs.
Karslake is a nipper and no mistake, but as I told you, the very
same evenin' and house where I saw her—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He attempts to take her hand.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Gently rising and affecting a tender surprise.</i>] What!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Rising with her.</i>] That's it!—You're over! [<i>He
suggests with his right hand the movement of a horse taking a hurdle.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Very sweetly.</i>] You don't really mean—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Carried away for the moment by so much true
womanliness.</i>] I mean, I stayed awake for an hour last night,
thinkin' about you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Speaking to be contradicted.</i>] But, you've just told me—that
Cynthia—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Admitting the fact.</i>] Well, she did—she did
bowl my wicket, but so did you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Taking him very gently to task.</i>] Don't you think there's
a limit to— [<i>She sits down.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Roused by so much loveliness of soul.</i>] Now, see
here, Mrs. Phillimore! You and I are not bottle babies, eh, are<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_651" id="Page_651"></SPAN></span>
we? You've been married and—I—I've knocked about, and we
both know there's a lot of stuff talked about—eh, eh, well, you
know:—the one and only—that a fellow can't be awfully well
smashed by two at the same time, don't you know! All rubbish!
You know it, and the proof of the puddin's in the eatin', I am!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With gentle reproach.</i>] May I ask where I come in?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Well, now, Mrs. Phillimore, I'll be frank with
you, Cynthia's my favourite, but you're runnin' her a close
second in the popular esteem!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Laughing, determined not to take offense.</i>] What a
delightful, original, fantastic person you are!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Frankly happy that he has explained everything so
neatly.</i>] I knew you'd take it that way!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> And what next, pray?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, just the usual,—eh,—thing,—the—eh—the
same old question, don't you know. Will you have me if she don't?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>A shade piqued, but determined not to risk showing it.</i>]
And you call that the same old usual question?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Yes, I know, but—but will you? I sail in a
week; we can take the same boat. And—eh—eh—my dear Mrs.—mayn't
I say Vida, I'd like to see you at the head of my table.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With velvet irony.</i>] With Cynthia at the foot?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Practical, as before.</i>] Never mind Mrs.
Karslake,—I admire her—she's—but you have your own points! And
you're here, and so'm I!—damme I offer myself, and my affections,
and I'm no icicle, my dear, tell you that for a fact, and,—and
in fact what's your answer!— [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>sighs and shakes her
head.</i>] Make it, yes! I say, you know, my dear Vida—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He catches her hands.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Drawing them from his.</i>] Unhand me, dear villain!
And sit further away from your second choice! What can I say?
I'd rather have <i>you</i> for a lover than any man I know! You must
be a lovely lover!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I am!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He makes a second effort to catch her fingers.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Will you kindly go further away and be good!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Quite forgetting</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span>] Look here, if you
say yes, we'll be married—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> In a month!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, no—this evening!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_652" id="Page_652"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Incapable of leaving a situation unadorned.</i>] This
evening! And sail in the same boat with <i>you</i>? And shall we sail to
the Garden of Eden and stroll into it and lock the gate on the
inside and then lose the key—under a rose-bush?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>After a pause and some consideration.</i>] Yes;
yes, I say—that's too clever for me! [<i>He draws nearer to her to
bring the understanding to a crisis.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Interrupted by a soft knock.</i>] My maid—come!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Swinging out of his chair and moving to the sofa.</i>] Eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Coming in and approaching</i> <span class="smcap">Vida.</span>] The new footman,
ma'am—he's made a mistake. He's told the lady you're at
home.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> What lady?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> Mrs. Karslake; and she's on the stairs, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Show her in.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>has been turning over the roses. On hearing this, he
faces about with a long stemmed one in his hand. He subsequently
uses it to point his remarks.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>, <i>who stops.</i>] One moment! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida.</span>] I say, eh—I'd rather not see her!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Very innocently.</i>] But you came here to see her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>A little flustered.</i>] I'd rather not. Eh,—I
fancied I'd find you and her together—but her— [<i>Coming a step
nearer.</i>] findin' me with you looks so dooced intimate,—no one
else, d'ye see, I believe she'd—draw conclusions—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> Pardon me, ma'am—but I hear Brooks coming!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Hold the door!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> So you don't want her to know—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] Be a good girl now—run me off
somewhere!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Show Sir Wilfrid the men's room.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>comes in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> The men's room! Ah! Oh! Eh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Beckoning him to go at once.</i>] Sir Wil— [<i>He hesitates;
then as</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>advances, he flings off with</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> Lady Karslake, milady!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Anything more inopportune! I never dreamed she'd
come— [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>comes in veiled. As she walks quickly into
the room</i>, <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>greets her languorously.</i>] My dear Cynthia, you
don't mean to say<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_653" id="Page_653"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Rather short, and visibly agitated.</i>] Yes, I've come.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Polite, but not urgent.</i>] Do take off your veil.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Complying.</i>] Is no one here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>As before.</i>] Won't you sit down?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Agitated and suspicious.</i>] Thanks, no—That is,
yes, thanks. Yes! You haven't answered my question?</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>waves her hand through the haze; glances suspiciously
at the smoke, and looks about for the cigarette.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Playing innocence in the first degree.</i>] My dear, what
makes you imagine that any one's here!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You've been smoking.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, puffing away! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>sees the glasses.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> And drinking—a pair of drinks? [<i>Her eyes lighting
on</i> <span class="smcap">John's</span> <i>gloves on the table at her elbow.</i>] Do they fit you, dear?
[<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>smiles;</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>picks up the crop and looks at it and reads
her own name.</i>] "Jack, from Cynthia."</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Without taking the trouble to double for a mere woman.</i>]
Yes, dear; it's Mr. Karslake's crop, but I'm happy to say he left
me a few minutes ago.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> He left the house? [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>smiles.</i>] I wanted to see
him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With a shade of insolence.</i>] To quarrel?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Frank and curt.</i>] I wanted to see him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Determined to put</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>in the wrong.</i>] And I sent
him away because I didn't want you to repeat the scene of last
night in my house.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Looks at crop and is silent.</i>] Well, I can't stay. I'm
to be married at three, and I had to play truant to get here!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>comes in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] There's a person, ma'am, on the sidewalk.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> What person, Benson?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> A person, ma'am, with a horse.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Happily agitated.</i>] It's Fiddler with Cynthia K!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She walks rapidly to the window and looks out.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Tell the man I'll be down in five minutes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Looking down from the balcony with delight.</i>] Oh,
there she is!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.] Go to the club-room, Benson, and
say to the two gentlemen I can't see them at present—I'll send
for them when<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_654" id="Page_654"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Listening.</i>] I hear some one coming.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Quick! [<span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>leaves the door which opens and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>comes in slowly, carelessly.</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>whispers to</i> <span class="smcap">Benson</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Moving close to</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and whispering.</i>] Beg par—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Under her breath.</i>] Go back!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Not understanding.</i>] I beg pardon!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Scarcely above a whisper.</i>] Go back!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Dense.</i>] Can't! I've a date! With the sheriff!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>A little cross.</i>] Please use your eyes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing and flattering</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] I am using my eyes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Fretted.</i>] Don't you see there's a lovely creature in
the room?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Not knowing what it is all about, but taking a wicked
delight in seeing her customary calm ruffled.</i>] Of course there is.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Hush!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Teasingly.</i>] But what I want to know is—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Hush!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Enjoying his fun.</i>] —is when we're to stroll in the
Garden of Eden—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Hush!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> —and lose the key. [<i>To put a stop to this, she lightly
tosses her handkerchief into his face.</i>] By George, talk about attar
of roses!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>At window, excited and moved at seeing her mare once
more.</i>] Oh, she's a darling! [<i>Turning.</i>] A perfect darling!
[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>starts up; he sees</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>at the same instant that she sees
him.</i>] Oh! I didn't know you were here. [<i>After a pause, with
"take-it-or-leave-it" frankness.</i>] I came to see <i>you</i>! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>looks
extremely dark and angry;</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>rises.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>most gently, and seeing there's nothing to
be gained of</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Oh, pray feel at home, Cynthia, dear!
[<i>Stopping by the door to her bedroom; to</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] When I've a nice
street frock on, I'll ask you to present me to Cynthia K. [<span class="smcap">Vida</span>
<i>opens the door and goes out.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>involuntarily
exchange glances.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Agitated and frank.</i>] Of course, I told you yesterday
I was coming here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Irritated.</i>] And I was to deny myself the privilege of
being here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Curt and agitated.</i>] Yes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Ready to fight.</i>] And you guessed I would do that?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_655" id="Page_655"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> What?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Speaks with agitation, frankness and good will.</i>]
Jack—I mean, Mr. Karslake,—no, I mean, Jack! I came because—well,
you see, it's my wedding day!—and—and—I—I—was
rude to you last evening. I'd like to apologize and make peace
with you before I go—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Determined to be disagreeable.</i>] Before you go to your
last, long home!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I came to apologize.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> But you'll remain to quarrel!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Still frank and kind.</i>] I will not quarrel. No!—and
I'm only here for a moment. I'm to be married at three, and
just look at the clock! Besides, I told Philip I was going to
Louise's shop, and I did—on the way here; but, you see, if I stay
too long he'll telephone Louise and find I'm not there, and he
might guess I was here. So you see I'm risking a scandal. And
now, Jack, see here, I lay my hand on the table, I'm here on the
square, and,—what I want to say is, why—Jack, even if we have
made a mess of our married life, let's put by anger and pride.
It's all over now and can't be helped. So let's be human, let's be
reasonable, and let's be kind to each other! Won't you give me
your hand? [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>refuses.</i>] I wish you every happiness!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Turning away, the past rankling.</i>] I had a client once,
a murderer; he told me he murdered the man, and he told me,
too, that he never felt so kindly to anybody as he did to that man
after he'd killed him!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Unforgiving.</i>] You murdered my happiness!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I won't recriminate!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And now I must put by anger and pride! I do! But
not self-respect, not a just indignation—not the facts and my
clear memory of them!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With growing emotion, and holding out her hand.</i>]
I give you one more chance! Yes, I'm determined to be generous.
I forgive everything you ever did to me. I'm ready to be friends.
I wish you every happiness and every—every—horse in the
world! I can't do more than that! [<i>She offers it again.</i>] You
refuse?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_656" id="Page_656"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Moved but surly.</i>] I like wildcats and I like Christians,
but I don't like Christian wildcats! Now I'm close hauled, trot
out your tornado! Let the Tiger loose! It's the tamer, the man
in the cage that has to look lively and use the red hot crowbar!
But, by Jove, I'm out of the cage! I'm a mere spectator of the
married circus! [<i>He puffs vigorously.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Be a game sport then! Our marriage was a wager;
you wagered you could live with me. You lost; you paid with
a divorce; and now is the time to show your sporting blood.
Come on, shake hands and part friends.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Not in this world! Friends with you, no! I have a
proper pride. I don't propose to put my pride in my
pocket.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Jealous and plain spoken.</i>] Oh, I wouldn't ask you
to put your pride in your pocket while Vida's handkerchief is
there. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>looks angered.</i>] Pretty little bijou of a handkerchief!
[<i>Pulling out the handkerchief.</i>] And she is charming, and
divorced, and reasonably well made up.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, well, Vida is a woman. [<i>Toying with the handkerchief.</i>]
I'm a man, a handkerchief is a handkerchief, and, as some
old Aristotle or other said, whatever concerns a woman, concerns
me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Not oblivious of him, but in a low voice.</i>] Insufferable!
Well, yes. [<i>She sits down. She is too much wounded to make
any further appeal.</i>] You're perfectly right. There's no possible
harmony between divorced people! I withdraw my hand and all
good feeling. No wonder I couldn't stand you. Eh? However,
that's pleasantly past! But at least, my dear Karslake, let us
have some sort of beauty behaviour! If we cannot be decent, let
us endeavour to be graceful. If we can't be moral, at least we
can avoid being vulgar.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> If there's to be no more marriage in the world—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Cynically.</i>] Oh, but that's not it; there's to be more
and more and more!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With a touch of bitterness.</i>] Very well! I repeat
then, if there's to be nothing but marriage and divorce, and re-marriage,
and re-divorce, at least, at least, those who <i>are</i> divorced
can avoid the vulgarity of meeting each other here, there, and
everywhere!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, that's where you come out!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_657" id="Page_657"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I thought so yesterday, and to-day I know it. It's
an insufferable thing to a woman of any delicacy of feeling to
find her husband—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Ahem—former!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> <i>Once</i> a husband always—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>In the same cynical tone.</i>] Oh, no! Oh, dear, no.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> To find her—to find the man she has once lived with—in
the house of—making love to—to find you here! [<span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>smiles and rises.</i>] You smile,—but I say, it should be a social
axiom, no woman should have to meet her former husband.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Cynical and cutting.</i>] Oh, I don't know; after I've
served my term I don't mind meeting my jailor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>takes chair near her.</i>] It's indecent—at
the horse-show, the opera, at races and balls, to meet the man
who once—It's not civilized! It's fantastic! It's half
baked! Oh, I never should have come here! [<i>He sympathizes,
and she grows irrational and furious.</i>] But it's entirely your
fault!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> My fault?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Working herself into a rage.</i>] Of course. What
business have you to be about—to be at large. To be at all!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Gosh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her rage increasing.</i>] To be where I am! Yes, it's
just as horrible for you to turn up in my life as it would be for a
dead person to insist on coming back to life and dinner and bridge!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Horrid idea!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Yes, but it's <i>you</i> who behave just as if you were not
dead, just as if I'd not spent a fortune on your funeral. You do;
you prepare to bob up at afternoon teas,—and dinners—and
embarrass me to death with your extinct personality!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, of course we <i>were</i> married, but it didn't quite
kill me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Angry and plain spoken.</i>] You killed yourself for
me—I divorced you. I buried you out of my life. If any human
soul was ever dead, you are! And there's nothing I so hate as a
gibbering ghost.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, I say!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With hot anger.</i>] Go gibber and squeak where
gibbering and squeaking are the fashion!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing and pretending to a coldness he does not feel.</i>]
And so, my dear child, I'm to abate myself as a nuisance! Well,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_658" id="Page_658"></SPAN></span>
as far as seeing you is concerned, for my part it's just like seeing
a horse who's chucked you once. The bruises are O. K., and you
see him with a sort of easy curiosity. Of course, you know, he'll
jolly well chuck the next man!—Permit me! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>picks up her
gloves, handkerchief and parasol, and gives her these as she drops
them one by one in her agitation.</i>] There's pleasure in the
thought.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And now, may I ask you a very simple question? Mere
curiosity on my part, but, why did you come here this
morning?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I have already explained that to you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Not your real motive. Permit me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> But I believe I have guessed your real—permit me—your
real motive!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>With mock sympathy.</i>] Cynthia, I am sorry for you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> H'm?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Of course we had a pretty lively case of the fever—the
mutual attraction fever, and we <i>were</i> married a very short time.
And I conclude that's what's the matter with <i>you</i>! You see, my
dear, seven months of married life is too short a time to cure a
bad case of the fancies.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>In angry surprise.</i>] What?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Calm and triumphant.</i>] That's my diagnosis.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Slowly and gathering herself together.</i>] I don't think
I understand.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, yes, you do; yes, you do.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With blazing eyes.</i>] What do you mean?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Would you mind not breaking my crop! Thank you!
I mean [<i>With polite impertinence.</i>] that ours was a case of premature
divorce, and, ahem, you're in love with me still.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>He pauses.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>has one moment of fury, then she realizes at
what a disadvantage this places her. She makes an immense effort,
recovers her calm, thinks hard for a moment more, and then, has
suddenly an inspiration.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack, some day you'll get the blind staggers from
conceit. No, I'm not in love with you, Mr. Karslake, but I
shouldn't be at all surprised if she were. She's just your sort,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_659" id="Page_659"></SPAN></span>
you know. She's a man-eating shark, and you'll be a toothsome
mouthful. Oh, come now, Jack, what a silly you are! Oh, yes,
you are, to get off a joke like that; me—in love with—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She looks at him.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why are you here? [<i>She laughs and begins to play her
game.</i>] Why are you here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Guess! [<i>She laughs.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why are you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Quickly.</i>] Why am I here! I'll tell you. I'm going
to be married. I had a longing, an irresistible longing to see you
make an ass of yourself just once more! It happened!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Uncertain and discomfited.</i>] I know better!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> But I came for a serious purpose, too. I came, my
dear fellow, to make an experiment on myself. I've been with
you thirty minutes; and— [<i>She sighs with content.</i>] It's all
right!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> What's all right?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Calm and apparently at peace with the world.</i>] I'm
immune.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Immune?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You're not catching any more! Yes, you see, I said
to myself, if I fly into a temper—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You did!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> If I fly into a temper when I see him, well, that shows
I'm not yet so entirely convalescent that I can afford to have
Jack Karslake at my house. If I remain calm I shall ask him to
dinner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Routed.</i>] Ask me if you dare! [<i>He rises.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Getting the whip hand for good.</i>] Ask you to dinner?
Oh, my dear fellow. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>rises.</i>] I'm going to do much more
than that. [<i>She rises.</i>] We must be friends, old man! We must
meet, we must meet often, we must show New York the way the
thing should be done, and, to show you I mean it—I want
you to be my best man, and give me away when I'm married this
afternoon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Incredulous and impatient.</i>] You don't mean that!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He pushes back his chair.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> There you are! Always suspicious!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You don't mean that!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Hiding her emotion under a sportswoman's manner.</i>]
Don't I? I ask you, come! And come as you are! And I'll lay<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_660" id="Page_660"></SPAN></span>
my wedding gown to Cynthia K that you won't be there! If
you're there, you get the gown, and if you're not, I get Cynthia K!—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Determined not to be worsted.</i>] I take it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Done! Now, then, we'll see which of us two is the
real sporting goods! Shake! [<i>They shake hands on it.</i>] Would
you mind letting me have a plain soda? [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>goes to the table,
and, as he is rattled and does not regard what he is about, he fills the
glass three-fourths full with whiskey. He gives this to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>who
looks him in the eye with an air of triumph.</i>] Thanks. [<i>Maliciously,
as</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>enters.</i>] Your hand is a bit shaky. I think <i>you</i> need a
little King William. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>shrugs his shoulders, and, as</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>
<i>immediately speaks,</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>defers drinking.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] My dear, I'm sorry to tell you your
husband—I mean, my husband—I mean Philip—he's asking for
you over the 'phone. You must have said you were coming here.
Of course, I told him you were not here, and hung up.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Entering hurriedly and at once moving to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.]
Ma'am, the new footman's been talking with Mr. Phillimore on
the wire. [<span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>gesture of regret.</i>] He told Mr. Phillimore that
his lady was here, and, if I can believe my ears, ma'am, he's got
Sir Wilfrid on the 'phone now!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Making his appearance, perplexed and annoyed.</i>]
I say, y' know—extraordinary country; that old chap, Phillimore,
he's been damned impertinent over the wire! Says I've
run off with Mrs. Karslake—talks about "Louise!" Now, who
the dooce is Louise? He's comin' round here, too—I said Mrs.
Karslake wasn't here— [<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Hello! Good job!
What a liar I am!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Benson.</span> [<i>Coming to the door. To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] Mr. Fiddler, ma'am,
says the mare is gettin' very restive.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>hears this and moves at once</i>. <span class="smcap">Benson</span> <i>withdraws.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] If that mare's restive, she'll break out in a
rash.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Will you take me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Of course. [<i>They go to the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Tata, old man! Meet you at the altar!
If I don't, the mare's mine!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>looks at her amazed.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Do the honours, dear, in my
absence!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_661" id="Page_661"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Come along, come along, never mind them! A horse
is a horse!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>go out gaily and in haste. At the same moment</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>drinks what she supposes to be her glass of plain soda.
As it is whiskey straight, she is seized with astonishment and
a fit of coughing.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>relieves her of the glass.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Indicating the contents of the glass.</i>] I say, do
you ordinarily take it as high up—as seven fingers and two
thumbs.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Coughing.</i>] Jack poured it out. Just shows how
groggy he was! And now, Sir Wilfrid—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She gets her things to go.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, you can't go!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>appears at the door.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I am to be married at three.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Let him wait. [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span>, <i>whom he meets
near the door.</i>] If Mr. Phillimore comes, bring his card up.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>Going.</i>] Yes, Sir Wilfrid.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> To me! [<i>Tipping him.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brooks.</span> [<i>Bowing.</i>] To you, Sir Wilfrid. [<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>goes.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Returning to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] I've got to have my
innings, y' know! [<i>Looking at her more closely.</i>] I say, you've
been crying!—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> King William!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> You <i>are</i> crying! Poor little gal!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Tears in her eyes.</i>] I feel all shaken and cold.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>returns with a card.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Astonished and sympathetic.</i>] Poor little gal.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her eyes wet.</i>] I didn't sleep a wink last night.
[<i>With disgust.</i>] Oh, what is the matter with me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff! You—
[<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>has carried in the card to</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfred</span>, <i>who picks it up and
says aside, to</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span>:] Phillimore? [<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>assents. Aloud to</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>calmly deceitful.</i>] Who's Waldorf Smith? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>shakes her head. To</i> <span class="smcap">Brooks</span>, <i>returning card to salver.</i>] Tell the
gentleman Mrs. Karslake is not here! [<span class="smcap">Brooks</span> <i>leaves the room.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Aware that she has no business where she is.</i>] I
thought it was Philip!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Telling the truth as if it were a lie.</i>] So did I!
[<i>With cheerful confidence.</i>] And now, Mrs. Karslake, I'll tell you<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_662" id="Page_662"></SPAN></span>
why you're cryin'. [<i>Sitting down beside her.</i>] You're marryin' the
wrong man! I'm sorry for you, but you're such a goose. Here
you are, marryin' this legal luminary. What for? You don't
know! He don't know! But I do! You pretend you're marryin'
him because it's the sensible thing; not a bit of it. You're marryin'
Mr. Phillimore because of all the other men you ever saw
he's the least like Jack Karslake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> That's a very good reason.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> There's only one good reason for marrying, and
that is because you'll die if you don't!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, I've tried that!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> The Scripture says: "Try! try! again!" I tell
you, there's nothing like a w'im!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What's that? W'im? Oh, you mean a <i>whim</i>! Do
please try and say W<i>h</i>im!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>For the first time emphasizing his H in the word.</i>]
W<i>h</i>im. You must have a w'im—w'im for the chappie you
marry.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I had—for Jack.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Your w'im wasn't wimmy enough, my dear! If
you'd had more of it, and tougher, it would ha' stood, y'know!
Now, I'm not proposin'!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Diverted at last from her own distress.</i>] I hope not!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, I will later! It's not time yet! As I was
saying—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> And pray, Sir Wilfrid, when will it be time?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> As soon as I see you have a w'im for me!
[<i>Rising, looks at his watch.</i>] And now, I'll tell you what we'll do!
We've got just an hour to get there in, my motor's on the corner,
and in fifty minutes we'll be at Belmont Park.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Her sporting blood fired.</i>] Belmont Park!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> We'll do the races, and dine at Martin's—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Tempted.</i>] Oh, if I only could! I can't! I've got
to be married! You're awfully nice; I've almost got a "w'im"
for you already.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Delighted.</i>] There you are! I'll send a telegram!
[<i>She shakes her head. He sits and writes at the table.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No, no, no!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Reading what he has written.</i>] "Off with Cates-Darby
to Races. Please postpone ceremony till seven-thirty."</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, no, it's impossible!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_663" id="Page_663"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Accustomed to have things go his way.</i>] No more
than breathin'! You can't get a w'im for me, you know, unless
we're together, so together we'll be! [<span class="smcap">John Karslake</span> <i>opens the
door, and, unnoticed, walks into the room.</i>] And to-morrow you'll
wake up with a jolly little w'im—, [<i>Reading.</i>] "Postpone
ceremony till seven-thirty." There. [<i>He puts on her cloak and
turning, sees</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] Hello!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Surly.</i>] Hello! Sorry to disturb you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Cheerful as possible.</i>] Just the man! [<i>Giving
him the telegraph form.</i>] Just step round and send it, my boy.
Thanks! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>reads it.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No, no, I can't go!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Cockety-coo-coo-can't. I say, you must!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Positively.</i>] <i>No!</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Astounded.</i>] Do you mean you're going—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Very gay.</i>] Off to the races, my boy!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Angry and outraged.</i>] Mrs. Karslake can't go with
you there!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>starts, amazed at his assumption of marital authority,
and delighted that she will have an opportunity of outraging his
sensibilities.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oho!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> An hour before her wedding!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Gay and not angry.</i>] May I know if it's the custom—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Jealous and disgusted.</i>] It's worse than eloping—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Custom, y' know, for the husband, that was, to
dictate—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Thoroughly vexed.</i>] By George, there's a limit!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What? What? What? [<i>Gathering up her things.</i>]
What did I hear you say?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Ah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Angry.</i>] I say there's a limit—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>More and more determined to arouse and excite</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span>.] Oh, there's a limit, is there?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> There is! I bar the way! It means reputation—it
means—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Enjoying her opportunity.</i>] We shall see what it
means!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Aha!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_664" id="Page_664"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] I'm here to protect your reputation—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] We've got to make haste, you
know.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Now, I'm ready—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Be sensible. You're breaking off the
match—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Excitedly.</i>] What's that to you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> It's boots and saddles!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Taking his stand between them and the door.</i>] No
thoroughfare!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Look here, my boy—!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Catching at the opportunity of putting</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>in an
impossible position.</i>] Wait a moment, Sir Wilfrid! Give me the
wire! [<i>Facing him.</i>] Thanks! [<i>Taking the telegraph form from
him and tearing it up.</i>] There! Too rude to chuck him by wire!
But you, Jack, you've taken on yourself to look after my interests,
so I'll just ask you, old man, to run down to the Supreme
Court and tell Philip—nicely, you know—I'm off with Sir Wilfrid
and where! Say I'll be back by seven, if I'm not later! And
make it clear, Jack, I'll marry him by eight-thirty or nine at the
latest! And mind <i>you're</i> there, dear! And now, Sir Wilfrid,
we're off.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Staggered and furious, giving way as they pass him.</i>]
I'm not the man to—to carry—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Quick and dashing.</i>] Oh, yes, you are.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> —a message from you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Triumphant.</i>] Oh, yes, you are; you're just
exactly the man! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>whirl out.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Great miracles of Moses!</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Curtain.</span><br/></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="ACT_III" id="ACT_III"></SPAN>ACT III.</h2>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span> <i>The same as that of Act I, but the room has been cleared of
superfluous furniture, and arranged for a wedding ceremony.</i>
<span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>is reclining on the sofa at the right of the table,</i>
<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>at its left.</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>is seated at the right of the
table.</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>is seated on the sofa. There is a wedding-bell of
roses, an arch of orange blossoms, and, girdled by a ribbon of
white, an altar of calla lilies. There are cushions of flowers,</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_665" id="Page_665"></SPAN></span>
<i>alcoves of flowers, vases of flowers—in short, flowers everywhere
and in profusion and variety. Before the altar are two cushions
for the couple to kneel on and, on pedestals, at each side of the arch,
are twin candelabra. The hangings are pink and white.</i></p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The room, first of all, and its emblems, holds the undivided attention;
then slowly engaging it, and in contrast to their gay surroundings,
the occupants. About each and everyone of them, hangs a deadly
atmosphere of suppressed irritation.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Impatiently.</i>] All very well, my dear Sarah. But
you see the hour. Twenty to ten! We have been here since half-past
two.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> You had dinner?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> I did not come here at two to have dinner at eight,
and be kept waiting until ten! And, my dear Sarah, when I ask
where the bride is—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>With forced composure.</i>] I have told you all
I know. Mr. John Karslake came to the house at lunch time,
spoke to Philip, and they left the house together.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Where is Philip?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Feebly, irritated.</i>] I don't wish to be
censorious or to express an actual opinion, but I must say it's a
bold bride who keeps her future mother-in-law waiting for eight
hours. However, I will not venture to— [<span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>
<i>reclines again and fades away into silence.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Sharply and decisively.</i>] I do! I'm sorry I went to
the expense of a silver ice-pitcher.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>sighs.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>keeps her temper with
an effort which is obvious.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>opens the door.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>.] For my part, I don't believe
Mrs. Karslake means to return here or to marry Philip at all!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Coming in, and approaching</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>.] Two
telegrams for you, ma'am! The choir boys have had their supper.
[<i>A slight movement ripples the ominous calm of all.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>
<i>steps back.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Rising.</i>] At last we shall know!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> From the lady! Probably!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>opens the first telegram and reads it at a glance,
laying it on the salver again with a look at</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>. <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>
<i>passes the salver to</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>, <i>who takes the telegram.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_666" id="Page_666"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> There's a toot now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Feebly, confused.</i>] I don't wish to intrude,
but really I cannot imagine Philip marrying at midnight. [<i>As</i>
<span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>reads</i>, <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>opens the second telegram, but does
not read it.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Reading.</i>] "Accident, auto struck"—something!
"Gasoline"—did something—illegible, ah! [<i>Reads.</i>] "Home by
nine forty-five! Hold the church!"</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>A general movement sets in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Profoundly shocked.</i>] "Hold the church!"
William, she still means to marry Philip! and to-night, too!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> It's from Belmont Park.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Making a great discovery.</i>] She went to the
races!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> This is from Philip! [<i>Reading the second telegram.</i>]
"I arrive at ten o'clock. Have dinner ready." [<span class="smcap">Miss
Heneage</span> <i>motions to</i> Thomas, <i>who, obeying, retires. Looking at
her watch.</i>] They are both due now. [<i>Movement.</i>] What's to be
done? [<i>She rises and</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>shrugs his shoulders.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Rising.</i>] After a young woman has spent her
wedding day at the races? Why, I consider that she has broken
the engagement,—and when she comes, tell her so.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> I'll telephone Matthew. The choir boys can
go home—her maid can pack her belongings—and when the lady
arrives—</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Impudently, the very distant toot of an auto-horn breaks in upon
her words, producing, in proportion to its growing nearness, an
increasing pitch of excitement and indignation.</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>flies to
the door and looks out.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>helpless, does not
know what to do or where to go or what to say.</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>moves
about excitedly.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>stands ready to make herself
disagreeable.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> [<i>Speaking rapidly and with excitement.</i>] I hear a man's
voice. Cates-Darby and brother Matthew.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A loud and brazenly insistent toot outrages afresh. Laughter and
voices outside are heard faintly.</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>looks out of the door, and,
as quickly withdraws.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Outrageous!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> Disgraceful!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_667" id="Page_667"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> Shocking! [<i>Partly rising as the voices and
horn are heard.</i>] I shall not take any part at all, in the—eh—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She fades away.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Interrupting her.</i>] Don't trouble yourself.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Through the growing noise of voices and laughter,</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia's</span> <i>voice
is heard.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>is seen in the outer hall. He is burdened
with wraps, not to mention a newspaper and parasol, which in
no wise check his flow of gay remarks to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>who is still
outside.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia's</span> <i>voice, and now</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew's</span>, <i>reach those
inside, and, at last, both join</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>, <i>who has turned at the
door to wait for them. As she reaches the door</i>, <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>turns
and speaks to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>who immediately follows her. She is in
automobile attire, wearing goggles, a veil, and an exquisite duster
of latest Paris style. They come in with a subdued bustle and
noise. As their eyes light on</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Miss
Heneage</span> <i>exclaim, and there is a general movement.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> 'Pon my word!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> Hah!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Bristling up to her feet, her sensibilities outraged.</i>]
Shocking!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>remains standing above sofa.</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>moves toward her</i>,
<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>sitting down again.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>reclines
on sofa.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>begins to speak as soon as she appears and
speaks fluently to the end.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No! I never was so surprised in my life, as when I
strolled into the paddock and they gave me a rousing reception—old
Jimmy Withers, Debt Gollup, Jack Deal, Monty Spiffles, the
Governor and Buckeye. All of my old admirers! They simply
fell on my neck, and, dear Matthew, what do you think I did? I
turned on the water main! [<i>There are movements and murmurs of
disapprobation from the family.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>indicates a desire to go.</i>]
Oh, but you can't go!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> I'll return in no time!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'm all ready to be married. Are they ready?
[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>waves a pious, polite gesture of recognition to the family.</i>]
I beg everybody's pardon! [<i>Taking off her wrap and putting
it on the back of a chair.</i>] My goggles are so dusty, I can't see
who's who! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] Thanks! You <i>have</i> carried it
well! [<i>She takes the parasol from</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_668" id="Page_668"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] When may I—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> See you next Goodwood!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Imperturbably.</i>] Oh, I'm coming back!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Advancing a bit toward the family.</i>] Not a bit of use
in coming back! I shall be married before you get here! Ta!
Ta! Goodwood!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Not in the least affected.</i>] I'm coming back.
[<i>He goes out quickly. There are more murmurs of disapprobation
from the family. There is a slight pause.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Beginning to take off her goggles, and moving nearer
"the family."</i>] I do awfully apologize for being so late!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Importantly.</i>] Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Importantly.</i>] Ahem! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>lays down goggles,
and sees their severity.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Dear me! [<i>Surveying the flowers and for a moment
speechless.</i>] Oh, good heavens! Why, it looks like a smart
funeral!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>moves; then speaks in a perfectly ordinary natural
tone, but her expression is severe.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>immediately realizes
the state of affairs in its fullness.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] After what has occurred,
Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Glances quietly toward the table, and then sits down
at it, composed and good-tempered.</i>] I see you got my wire—so you
know where I have been.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> To the race-course!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> With a rowdy Englishman. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>glances at</i>
<span class="smcap">Sudley</span>, <i>uncertain whether he means to be disagreeable, or whether
he is only naturally so.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> We concluded you desired to break the
engagement!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Indifferently.</i>] No! No! Oh! No!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Do you intend, despite of our opinion of
you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> The only opinion that would have any weight with
me would be Mrs. Phillimore's.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She turns expectantly to</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> I am generally asleep at this hour, and,
accordingly, I will not venture to express any—eh—any—actual
opinion. [<i>She fades away.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>smiles.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_669" id="Page_669"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Coldly.</i>] You smile. We simply inform you
that as regards <i>us</i>, the alliance is not grateful.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Affecting gaiety and unconcern.</i>] And all this
because the gasoline gave out.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> My patience has given out!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> So has mine. I'm going.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She makes good her word.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Vexed beyond civility. To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] My dear
young lady: You come here, to this sacred—eh—eh—spot—altar!— [<i>Gesture.</i>]
odoriferous of the paddock!—speaking of
Spiffles and Buckeye,—having practically eloped!—having
created a scandal, and disgraced our family!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Affecting surprise at this attitude.</i>] How does it disgrace
you? Because I like to see a high-bred, clean, nervy, sweet
little four-legged gee play the antelope over a hurdle!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Sister, it is high time that you—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She turns to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>with a gesture.</i></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With quiet irony.</i>] Mrs. Phillimore is generally
asleep at this hour, and accordingly she will not venture to
express—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Spluttering with irritation.</i>] Enough, madam—I
<i>venture</i> to—to—to—to say, you are leading a fast life.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With powerful intention.</i>] Not in this house! For
six heavy weeks have I been laid away in the grave, and I've
found it very slow indeed trying to keep pace with the dead!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Despairingly.</i>] This comes of horses!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Indignant.</i>] Of what?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> C-c-caring for horses!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>With sublime morality.</i>] What Mrs. Karslake
cares for is—men.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Angry and gay.</i>] What would you have me care
for? The Ornithorhyncus Paradoxus? or Pithacanthropus
Erectus? Oh, I refuse to take you seriously. [<span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>begins to
prepare to leave; he buttons himself into respectability and his coat.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> My dear madam, I take myself seriously—and
madam, I—I retract what I have brought with me [<i>Feeling in his
waistcoat pocket.</i>] as a graceful gift,—an Egyptian scarab—a—a—sacred
beetle, which once ornamented the person of a—eh—mummy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Scoring in return.</i>] It should never be absent from
your pocket, Mr. Sudley! [<span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>walks away in a rage.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_670" id="Page_670"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Rising, to</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span>.] I've a vast mind to
withdraw my— [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Interrupts; maliciously.</i>] Your wedding present?
The little bronze cat!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>Moves, angrily.</i>] Oh! [<i>Even</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>
<i>comes momentarily to life, and expresses silent indignation.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Loftily.</i>] Sarah, I'm going.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Grace</span>, <i>who has met</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>takes occasion to accompany him into
the room.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>looks dusty and grim. As they come in</i>,
<span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>speaks to him, and</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>shakes his head. They pause
near the door.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Emotionally.</i>] I shall go to my room! However,
all I ask is that you repeat to Philip— [<i>As she moves toward the
door, she comes suddenly upon</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>and speaks to him in a low
voice.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>, <i>determined to win.</i>] As I go out,
I shall do myself the pleasure of calling a hansom for Mrs.
Karslake— [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>moves slightly from the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> As you go out, Sudley, have a hansom called, and
when it comes, get into it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sudley.</span> [<i>Furious.</i>] Eh,—eh,—my dear sir, I leave you to
your fate. [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>angrily points him the door and</i> <span class="smcap">Sudley</span> <i>leaves in great haste.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> [<i>With weight.</i>] Philip, you've not heard—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Interrupting.</i>] Everything—from Grace! My sister
has repeated your words to me—and her own! I've told her
what I think of <i>her</i>. [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>looks witheringly at</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Grace.</span> I shan't wait to hear any more.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She flounces out of the room.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Don't make it necessary for me to tell you what I
think of you. [<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>moves to the right, toward his mother, to whom
he gives his arm.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>immediately seeks the opposite
side.</i>] Mother, with your permission, I desire to be alone. I
expect both you and Grace, Sarah, to be dressed and ready for
the ceremony a half hour from now. [<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>
<i>are about to go out</i>, <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>speaks.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> I shall come or not as I see fit. And let me
add, my dear brother, that a fool at forty is a fool indeed. [<span class="smcap">Miss
Heneage</span>, <i>high and mighty, goes out, much pleased with her quotation.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_671" id="Page_671"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore.</span> [<i>Stupid and weary as usual, to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>as
he leads her to the door.</i>] My dear son—I won't venture to
express— [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>in irritation, moves to the table.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Soothing a silly mother.</i>] No, mother, don't! But I
shall expect you, of course, at the ceremony. [<span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>
<i>languidly retires.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>strides to the centre of the room, taking the
tone, and assuming the attitude of, the injured husband.</i>] It is
proper for me to tell you that I followed you to Belmont. I am
aware—I know with whom—in fact, <i>I know all</i>! [<i>He punctuates
his words with pauses, and indicates the whole censorious universe.</i>]
And now let me assure you—I am the last man in the world to
be jilted on the very eve of—of—everything with you. I won't
be jilted. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>is silent.</i>] You understand? I propose to
marry you. I won't be made ridiculous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Glancing at</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Philip, I didn't mean to
make you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Why, then, did you run off to Belmont Park with
that fellow?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Philip, I—eh—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Sitting down at the table.</i>] What motive? What
reason? On our wedding day? Why did you do it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'll tell you the truth. I was bored.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Staggered.</i>] Bored? In my company?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I was bored, and then—and besides, Sir Wilfrid
asked me to go.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Exactly, and that was why you went. Cynthia, when
you promised to marry me, you told me you had forever done
with love. You agreed that marriage was the rational coming
together of two people.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I know, I know!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Do you believe that now?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't know what I believe. My brain is in a
whirl! But, Philip, I am beginning to be—I'm afraid—yes, I am
afraid that one can't just select a great and good man [<i>Indicating
him.</i>] and say: I will be happy with him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>With complacent dignity.</i>] I don't see why not. You
must assuredly do one or the other: You must either let your
heart choose or your head select.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Gravely.</i>] No, there's a third scheme: Sir Wilfrid
explained the theory to me. A woman should marry whenever<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_672" id="Page_672"></SPAN></span>
she has a whim for the man, and then leave the rest to the man.
Do you see?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Furious.</i>] Do I see? Have I ever seen any thing else?
Marry for whim! That's the New York idea of marriage.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Observing cynically.</i>] New York ought to
know.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Marry for whim and leave the rest to the divorce
court! Marry for whim and leave the rest to the man. That was
the former Mrs. Phillimore's idea. Only she spelled "whim"
differently; she omitted the "w." [<i>He rises in his anger.</i>] And
now you—<i>you</i> take up with this preposterous— [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>moves uneasily.</i>] But, nonsense! It's impossible! A woman of
your mental calibre—No. Some obscure, primitive, female
<i>feeling</i> is at work corrupting your better judgment! What is it
you <i>feel</i>?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Philip, you never felt like a fool, did you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> No, never.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Politely.</i>] I thought not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> No, but whatever your feelings, I conclude you are
ready to marry me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Uneasy.</i>] Of course, I came back. I am here, am
I not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You are ready to marry me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Twisting in the coils.</i>] But you haven't had your
dinner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Do I understand you refuse?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Couldn't we defer—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> You refuse?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Desperately thinking of an escape from her promise,
and finding none.</i>] No, I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my
word. I will.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Triumphant.</i>] Ah! Very good, then. Run to your
room. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>turns to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Throw something over you.
In a half hour I'll expect you here! And Cynthia, my dear,
remember! I cannot cuculate like a wood-pigeon, but—I esteem
you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Hopelessly.</i>] I think I'll go, Philip.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Spiritlessly.</i>] I think I'll go, Philip.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I'll expect you,—in half an hour.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With leaden despair.</i>] Yes.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_673" id="Page_673"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> And, Cynthia, don't think any more about that fellow,
Cates-Darby.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Amazed and disgusted by his misapprehension.</i>]
No. [<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>leaves</i>, <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in from the opposite door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Not seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>, <i>and clumsily defiant.</i>] And if I
had that fellow, Cates-Darby, in the dock—!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Sir what—what—wh-who? [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>enters in
evening dress.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>looks</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>in the face and speaks to</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.] Tell Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby I am not at home to
him. [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>is embarrassed.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Undaunted.</i>] My dear Lord Eldon—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Again addressing</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.] Show the gentleman the
door. [<i>There is a pause.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>, <i>with a significant gesture,
glances at the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Moving to the door, he examines it and returns to</i>
<span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Eh,—I admire the door, my boy! Fine, old carved
mahogany panel; but don't ask me to leave by it, for Mrs.
Karslake made me promise I'd come, and that's why I'm here.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>does not wait for further orders.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Sir, you are—impudent—!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Interrupting.</i>] Ah, you put it all in a nutshell,
don't you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> To show your face here, after practically eloping with
my wife!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Affecting ignorance.</i>] When were you married?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> We are as good as married.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, pooh, pooh! You can't tell me that grace
before soup is as good as a dinner! [<i>He takes out his cigar-case
and, in the absence of a match, enjoys a smokeless smoke.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Sir—I—demand—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Calmly carrying the situation.</i>] Mrs. Karslake
is <i>not</i> married. <i>That's</i> why I'm here. I am here for the same
purpose <i>you</i> are; to ask Mrs. Karslake to be my wife.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Are you in your senses?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Pricking his American cousin's pet vanity.</i>]
Come, come, Judge—you Americans have no sense of humour.
[<i>Taking a small jewel-case from his pocket.</i>] There's my regards for
the lady—and [<i>Reasonably.</i>], if I must go, I will. Of course, I
would like to see her, but—if it isn't your American custom—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>Opens the door and announces.</i>] Mr. Karslake.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_674" id="Page_674"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, well, I say; if he can come, I can!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">John Karslake</span>, <i>in evening dress, comes in quickly, carrying a
large and very smart bride's bouquet, which he hands to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>,
<i>who stands transfixed. Because it never occurs to him to refuse it
or chuck it away</i>, <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>accepts the bouquet gingerly, but frees
himself of it at the first available moment.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>walks to the
centre of the room. Deep down he is feeling wounded and unhappy.
But, as he knows his coming to the ceremony on whatever
pretext is a social outrage, he carries it off by assuming an air of
its being the most natural thing in the world. He controls the
expression of his deeper emotion, but the pressure of this keeps his
face grave, and he speaks with effort.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> My compliments to the bride, Judge.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Angry.</i>] And you, too, have the effrontery?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> There you are!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Pretending ease.</i>] Oh, call it friendship—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>leaves.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Puts bouquet on table. Ironically.</i>] I suppose Mrs.
Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and of
course—</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Throughout his stay</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>hides the emotions he will not show behind
a daring irony. Under its effects</i>, <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>on his right, walks about
in a fury.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>, <i>sitting down on the edge of the table, is
gay and undisturbed.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Taking a step toward</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] You will oblige me—both
of you—by immediately leaving—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Smiling and going to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Oh, come, come, Judge—suppose
I <i>am</i> here? Who has a better right to attend his wife's
obsequies! Certainly, I come as a mourner—for <i>you</i>!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I say, is it the custom?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No, no—of course it's not the custom, no. But we'll
make it the custom. After all,—what's a divorced wife among
friends?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Sir, your humour is strained!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Humour,—Judge?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> It is, sir, and I'll not be bantered! Your both being
here is—it is—gentlemen, there is a decorum which the stars in
their courses do not violate.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_675" id="Page_675"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Now, Judge, never you mind what the stars do in their
divorces! Get down to earth of the present day. Rufus Choate
and Daniel Webster are dead. You must be modern. You must
let peroration and poetry alone! Come along now. Why
shouldn't I give the lady away?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Hear! Hear! Oh, I beg your pardon!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And why shouldn't we both be here? American marriage
is a new thing. We've got to strike the pace, and the only
trouble is, Judge, that the judiciary have so messed the thing up
that a man can't be sure he <i>is</i> married until he's divorced. It's a
sort of marry-go-round, to be sure! But let it go at that! Here
we all are, and we're ready to marry my wife to you, and start
her on her way to him!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Brought to a standstill.</i>] Good Lord! Sir, you cannot
trifle with monogamy!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Now, now, Judge, monogamy is just as extinct as knee-breeches.
The new woman has a new idea, and the new idea is—well,
it's just the opposite of the old Mormon one. Their idea is
one man, ten wives and a hundred children. Our idea is one
woman, a hundred husbands and one child.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Sir, this is polyandry.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Polyandry? A hundred to one it's polyandry; and
that's it, Judge! Uncle Sam has established consecutive polyandry,—but
there's got to be an interval between husbands! The
fact is, Judge, the modern American marriage is like a wire fence.
The woman's the wire—the posts are the husbands. [<i>He indicates
himself, and then</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] One—two—three!
And if you cast your eye over the future you can count
them, post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to Dakota!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Going to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>who at once moves away.</i>] Now, now,
Judge, I like you. But you're asleep; you're living in the dark
ages. You want to call up Central. "Hello, Central! Give me
the present time, 1906, New York!"</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Of course you do, and—there you are!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Heavily.</i>] There I am not, sir! And— [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] as
for Mr. Karslake's ill-timed jocosity,—sir, in the future—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, hang the future!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> I begin to hope, Sir Wilfrid, that in the future I shall
have the pleasure of hanging you! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] And as to you,
sir, your insensate idea of giving away your own—your former—my—your—oh!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_676" id="Page_676"></SPAN></span>
Good Lord! This is a nightmare! [<i>He turns to
go in despair.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>coming in, meets him, and stops him at
the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] My dear brother, Aunt Sarah
Heneage refuses to give Mrs. Karslake away, unless you yourself,—eh—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>As he goes out.</i>] No more! I'll attend to the matter!
[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Choir Boys</span> <i>are heard practising in the next room.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Mopping his brow.</i>] How do you both do? My
aunt has made me very warm. [<i>Ringing the bell.</i>] You hear our
choir practising—sweet angel boys! H'm! H'm! Some of the
family will not be present. I am very fond of you, Mr. Karslake,
and I think it admirably Christian of you to have waived
your—eh—your—eh—that is, now that I look at it more narrowly, let
me say, that in the excitement of pleasurable anticipation, I forgot,
Karslake, that your presence might occasion remark— [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>
<i>responds to his ring.</i>] Thomas! I left, in the hall, a
small hand-bag or satchel containing my surplice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Yes, sir. Ahem!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> You must really find the hand-bag at once.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>turns to go, when he stops startled.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Yes, sir. [<i>Announcing in consternation.</i>] Mrs. Vida
Phillimore. [<span class="smcap">Vida Phillimore</span>, <i>in full evening dress, steps gently
up to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Always piously serene.</i>] Ah, my dear child! Now
this is just as it should be! That is, eh— [<i>He walks to the centre
of the room with her</i>, <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>the while, pointedly disregarding</i> <span class="smcap">Sir
Wilfrid</span>.] That is, when I come to think of it—your presence
might be deemed inauspicious.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> But, my dear Matthew,—I had to come. [<i>Aside to him.</i>]
I have a reason for being here.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>, <i>who has left the room, again appears.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>With a helpless gesture.</i>] But, my dear child—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> [<i>With sympathetic intention.</i>] Sir, Mr. Phillimore
wishes to have your assistance, sir—with Miss Heneage <i>immediately</i>!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Ah! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] One moment! I'll return. [<i>To</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.] Have you found the bag with my surplice?</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>He goes out with</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>, <i>speaking.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>moves at
once to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida. John</span>, <i>moving to a better position, watches
the door.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_677" id="Page_677"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] You're just the person I most want
to see!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>With affected iciness.</i>] Oh, no, Sir Wilfrid, Cynthia
isn't here yet! [<i>She moves to the table, and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>his eyes on the
door, coming toward her, she speaks to him with obvious sweetness.</i>]
Jack, dear, I never was so ravished to see any one.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Taken aback.</i>] By Jove!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Very sweet.</i>] I knew I should find you here!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Annoyed but civil.</i>] Now don't do that!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Sweeter than ever.</i>] Jack! [<i>They sit down.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Civil but plain spoken.</i>] Don't do it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>In a voice dripping with honey.</i>] Do what, Jack?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Touch me with your voice! I have troubles enough of
my own. [<i>He sits not far from her; the table between them.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> And I know who your troubles are! Cynthia!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>From this moment</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>abandons</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>as an object of the chase
and works him into her other game.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I hate her. I don't know why I came.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> You came, dear, because you couldn't stay away—you're
in love with her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> All right, Vida, what I feel may be <i>love</i>—but all I can
say is, if I could get even with Cynthia Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> You can, dear—it's as easy as powdering one's face;
all you have to do is to be too nice to me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Looking at her inquiringly.</i>] Eh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Don't you realize she's jealous of you? Why did she
come to my house this morning? She's jealous—and all you
have to do—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> If I can make her wince, I'll make love to you till the
Heavenly cows come home!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Well, you see, my dear, if you make love to me it will
[<i>Delicately indicating</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] cut both ways at once!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Eh,—what! Not Cates-Darby? [<i>Starting.</i>] Is that
Cynthia?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Now don't get rattled and forget to make love to me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I've got the jumps. [<i>Trying to follow her instructions.</i>]
Vida, I adore you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, you must be more convincing; that won't do at all.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Listening.</i>] Is that she now?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>comes in and passes to the inner room.</i></span><br/>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_678" id="Page_678"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> It's Matthew. And, Jack, dear, you'd best get the
hang of it before Cynthia comes. You might tell me all about
your divorce. That's a sympathetic subject. Were you able to
undermine it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No. I've got a wire from my lawyer this morning.
The divorce holds. She's a free woman. She can marry whom
she likes. [<i>The organ is heard, very softly played.</i>] Is that
Cynthia? [<i>He rises quickly.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> It's the organ!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Overwhelmingly excited.</i>] By George! I should never
have come! I think I'll go.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He makes a movement toward the door.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Rises and follows him remonstratingly.</i>] When I need
you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I can't stand it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, but, Jack—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Good-night!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> I feel quite ill. [<i>Seeing that she must play her last card
to keep him, pretends to faintness; sways and falls into his arms.</i>]
Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>In a rage, but beaten.</i>] I believe you're putting up a
fake.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The organ swells as</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>enters sweepingly, dressed in full
evening dress for the wedding ceremony.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>not knowing what
to do, keeps his arms about</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>as a horrid necessity.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Speaking as she comes in, to</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.] Here I
am. Ridiculous to make it a conventional thing, you know.
Come in on the swell of the music, and all that, just as if I'd never
been married before. Where's Philip? [<i>She looks for</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>and
sees</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>with</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>in his arms. She stops short.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Uneasy and embarrassed.</i>] A glass of water! I beg
your pardon, Mrs. Karslake— [<i>The organ plays on.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Ironical and calm.</i>] Vida!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> She has fainted.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Cynically.</i>] Fainted? [<i>Without pausing.</i>] Dear,
dear, dear, terrible! So she has. [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>takes the flowers
from a vase and prepares to sprinkle</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>forehead with the water
it contains.</i>] No, no, not her forehead, Sir Wilfrid, her frock!
Sprinkle her best Paquin! If it's a real faint, she will not
come to!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_679" id="Page_679"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Coming quickly to her senses as her Paris importation is
about to suffer.</i>] I almost fainted.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Almost!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Using the stock phrase as a matter of course, and reviving
rapidly.</i>] Where am I? [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>glances at</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>sharply.</i>] Oh,
the bride! I beg every one's pardon. Cynthia, at a crisis like this,
I simply couldn't stay away from Philip!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Stay away from Philip? [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>exchange glances.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Your arm, Jack; and lead me where there is air.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>go into the further room. The organ stops.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir
Wilfrid</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>are practically alone in the room.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>are barely within sight. He is first seen to take her
fan and give her air; then to pick up a book and read to her.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I've come back.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] Asks for air and goes to the
greenhouse. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>crosses the room and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>offers
her a seat.</i>] I know why you are here. It's that intoxicating
little whim you suppose me to have for you. My regrets! But
the whim's gone flat! Yes, yes, my gasoline days are over. I'm
going to be garaged for good. However, I'm glad you're here;
you take the edge off—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Mr. Phillimore?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Sharply.</i>] No, Karslake. I'm just waiting to say
the words [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in unnoticed.</i>] "love, honour and obey"
to Phillimore— [<i>Looking back.</i>] and <i>at</i> Karslake! [<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.]
What is it? Mr. Phillimore?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Mr. Phillimore will be down in a few minutes, ma'am.
He's very sorry, ma'am [<i>Lowering his voice and coming nearer to</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>mindful of the respectabilities</i>], but there's a button off
his waistcoat.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Rising. With irony.</i>] Button off his waistcoat!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes out.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Delightedly.</i>] Ah! So much the better for me.
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>looks into the other room.</i>] Now, then, never mind those
two! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves restlessly.</i>] Sit down.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I can't.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> You're as nervous as—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Nervous! Of course I'm nervous! So would you be
nervous if you'd had a runaway and smash up, and you were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_680" id="Page_680"></SPAN></span>
going to try it again. [<i>She is unable to take her eyes from</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>, <i>noting this, grows uneasy.</i>] And if some
one doesn't do away with those calla lilies—the odor makes me
faint! [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>moves.</i>] No, it's not the lilies! It's the
orange blossoms!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Orange blossoms.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over
the abyss! [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>promptly confiscates the vase of orange
blossoms.</i>] They smell of six o'clock in the evening. When
Philip's fallen asleep, and little boys are crying the winners outside,
and I'm crying inside, and dying inside and outside and
everywhere.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Returning to her side.</i>] Sorry to disappoint you.
They're artificial. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>shrugs her shoulders.</i>] That's it!
They're emblematic of artificial domesticity! And I'm here to
help you balk it. [<i>He sits down and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>half rises and looks
toward</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] Keep still now, I've a lot to say to you.
Stop looking—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Do you think I can listen to you make love to me
when the man who—who—whom I most despise in all the world,
is reading poetry to the woman who—who got me into the fix
I'm in!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Leaning over her chair.</i>] What do you want to
look at 'em for? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves.</i>] Let 'em be and listen to me!
Sit down; for damme, I'm determined.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Now at the table and half to herself.</i>] I won't look
at them! I won't think of them. Beasts! [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>interposes
between her and her view of</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>. <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>opens the door
and walks in.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Now, then— [<i>He sits down.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Those two <i>here</i>! It's just as if Adam and Eve
should invite the snake to their golden wedding. [<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span>.]
What is it, what's the matter?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Thomas.</span> Mr. Phillimore's excuses, ma'am. In a very short
time— [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes out.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I'm on to you! You hoped for more buttons!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'm dying of the heat; fan me.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>fans</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Heat! No! You're dying because you're
ignorin' nature. Certainly you are! You're marryin' Phillimore!
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>appears faint.</i>] Can't ignore nature, Mrs. Karslake.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_681" id="Page_681"></SPAN></span>
Yes, you are; you're forcin' your feelin's. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>glances at
him.</i>] And what you want to do is to let yourself go a bit—up
anchor and sit tight! I'm no seaman, but that's the idea!
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves and shakes her head.</i>] So just throw the reins on
nature's neck, jump this fellow Phillimore and marry me!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He leans toward</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Naturally, but with irritation.</i>] You propose to me
here, at a moment like this? When I'm on the last lap—just in
sight of the goal—the gallows—the halter—the altar, I don't
know what its name is! No, I won't have you! [<i>Looking toward</i>
<span class="smcap">Karslake</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] And I won't have you stand near me! I
won't have you talking to me in a low tone! [<i>Her eyes glued on</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] Stand over there—stand where you are.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I say—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I can hear you—I'm listening!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Well, don't look so hurried and worried. You've
got buttons and buttons of time. And now my offer. You
haven't yet said you would—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Marry you? I don't even know you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Feeling sure of being accepted.</i>] Oh,—tell you all
about myself. I'm no duke in a pickle o' debts, d'ye see? I can
marry where I like. Some o' my countrymen are rotters, ye know.
They'd marry a monkey, if poppa-up-the-tree had a corner in
cocoanuts! And they do marry some queer ones, y' know.
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>looks beyond him, exclaims and turns.</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>turns.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Do they?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, rather. That's what's giving your heiresses
such a bad name lately. If a fellah's in debt he can't pick and
choose, and then he swears that American gals are awfully fine
lookers, but they're no good when it comes to continuin' the
race! Fair dolls in the drawin'-room, but no good in the nursery.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Thinking of</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and nothing else.</i>] I can
see Vida in the nursery.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> You understand when you want a brood mare,
you don't choose a Kentucky mule.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I think I see one.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Well, that's what they're saying over there.
They say your gals run to talk [<i>He plainly remembers</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span>
<i>volubility.</i>] and I have seen gals here that would chat life into a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_682" id="Page_682"></SPAN></span>
wooden Indian! That's what you Americans call being clever.—All
brains and no stuffin'! In fact, some of your American gals
are the nicest boys I ever met.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> So that's what you think?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Not a bit what <i>I</i> think—what my countrymen
think!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why are you telling me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Oh, just explaining my character. I'm the sort
that can pick and choose—and what I want is heart.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>ever in mind.</i>] No more heart than
a dragon-fly! [<i>The organ begins to play softly.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> That's it, dragon-fly. Cold as stone and never
stops buzzing about and showin' off her colours. It's that American
dragon-fly girl that I'm afraid of, because, d'ye see, I don't
know what an American expects when he marries; yes, but
you're not listening!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I am listening. I am!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Speaking directly to her.</i>] An Englishman, ye
see, when he marries expects three things: love, obedience, and
five children.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Three things! I make it seven!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Yes, my dear, but the point is, will you be
mistress of Traynham?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Who has only half listened to him.</i>] No, Sir Wilfrid,
thank you, I won't. [<i>She turns to see</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>walk across the
drawing-room with</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>and apparently absorbed in what she is
saying.</i>] It's outrageous!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Eh? Why you're cryin'?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Almost sobbing.</i>] I am not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> You're not crying because you're in love with
me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'm not crying—or if I am, I'm crying because I
love my country. It's a disgrace to America—cast-off husbands
and wives getting together in a parlour and playing tag under a
palm-tree. [<span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>with intention and determined to stab</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>,
<i>kisses</i> <span class="smcap">Vida's</span> <i>hand.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Eh! Oh! I'm damned! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] What
do you think that means?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't doubt it means a wedding here, at once—after
mine! [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>leave the drawing-room and walk
slowly toward them.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_683" id="Page_683"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Affecting an impossible intimacy to wound</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>and
tantalize</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] Hush, Jack—I'd much rather no one
should know anything about it until it's all over!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Starting and looking at</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] What did I
tell you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Oh, my dear, he's asked me to champagne
and lobster at <i>your</i> house—his house! Matthew is
coming! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>starts, but controls herself.</i>] And you're to
come, Sir Wilfrid. [<i>Intending to convey the idea of a sudden
marriage ceremony.</i>] Of course, my dear, I would like to wait for your
wedding, but something rather—rather important to me is to
take place, and I know you'll excuse me. [<i>The organ stops.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Piqued at being forgotten.</i>] All very neat, but
you haven't given me a chance, even.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Chance? You're not serious?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I am!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Striking while the iron is hot.</i>] I'll give you a minute
to offer yourself.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Eh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Sixty seconds from now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Uncertain.</i>] There's such a thing as bein' silly.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Calm and determined.</i>] Fifty seconds left.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> I take you—count fair. [<i>He hands her his watch
and goes to where</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>stands.</i>] I say, Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Overwhelmed with grief and emotion.</i>] They're
engaged; they're going to be married to-night, over champagne
and lobster at my house!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Will you consider your—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Hastily, to get rid of him.</i>] No, no, no, no! Thank
you, Sir Wilfrid, I will not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Calm, and not to be laid low.</i>] Thanks awfully.
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>walks away. Returning to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] Mrs. Phillimore—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Returning his watch.</i>] Too late! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Karslake</span>.]
Jack, dear, we must be off.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Standing and making a general appeal for information.</i>]
I say, is it the custom for American girls—that sixty
seconds or too late? Look here! Not a bit too late. I'll take
you around to Jack Karslake's, and I'm going to ask you the
same old question again, you know. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.] By Jove, you
know in your country it's the pace that kills.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>follows</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>out the door.</i></span><br/>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_684" id="Page_684"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Gravely to</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>who has walked away.</i>] Good-night,
Mrs. Karslake, I'm going; I'm sorry I came.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Sorry? Why are you sorry? [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>looks at her;
she winces a little.</i>] You've got what you wanted. [<i>After a
pause.</i>] I wouldn't mind your marrying Vida—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Gravely.</i>] Oh, wouldn't you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging
yourselves <i>here</i>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Of course, I should have preferred a garden of roses and
plenty of twilight.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Rushing into speech.</i>] I'll tell you what you <i>have</i>
done—you've thrown yourself away! A woman like that! No
head, no heart! All languor and loose—loose frocks—she's the
typical, worst thing America can do! She's the regular American
marriage worm!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I have known others—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Quickly.</i>] Not me. I'm not a patch on that
woman. Do you know anything about her life? Do you know
the things she did to Philip? Kept him up every night of his
life—forty days out of every thirty—and then, without his
knowing it, put brandy in his coffee to make him lively at
breakfast.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Banteringly.</i>] I begin to think she is just the
woman—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Unable to quiet her jealousy.</i>] She is <i>not</i> the woman
for <i>you</i>! A man with your bad temper—your airs of authority—your
assumption of—of—everything. What you need is a good,
old-fashioned, bread-poultice woman!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>comes to a full stop and faces him.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Sharply.</i>] Can't say I've had any experience of the
good old-fashioned bread-poultice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't care what you say! If you marry Vida
Phillimore—you sha'n't do it. [<i>Tears of rage choking her.</i>] No,
I liked your father and, for <i>his</i> sake, I'll see that his son doesn't
make a donkey of himself a second time.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Too angry to be amused.</i>] Oh, I thought I was divorced.
I begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You have! You shall have! If you attempt to
marry her, I'll follow you—and I'll find her—I'll tell Vida— [<i>He
turns to her.</i>] I will. I'll tell Vida just what sort of a dance
you led me.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_685" id="Page_685"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Quickly on her last word but speaking gravely.</i>] Indeed!
Will you? And why do you care what happens to me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Startled by his tone.</i>] I—I—ah—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Insistently and with a faint hope.</i>] <i>Why</i> do you
<i>care</i>?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't. Not in your sense—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> How dare you then pretend—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't pretend.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Interrupting her; proud, serious and strong.</i>] How dare
you look me in the face with the eyes that I once kissed, and pretend
the least regard for me? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>recoils and looks away.
Her own feelings are revealed to her clearly for the first time.</i>] I
begin to understand our American women now. Fire-flies—and
the fire they gleam with is so cold that a midge couldn't warm his
heart at it, let alone a man. You're not of the same race as a
man! You married me for nothing, divorced me for nothing,
because you <i>are</i> nothing!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Wounded to the heart.</i>] Jack! What are you
saying?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>With unrestrained emotion.</i>] What,—you feigning an
interest in me, feigning a lie—and in five minutes— [<i>With a
gesture, indicating the altar.</i>] Oh, you've taught me the trick of
your sex—you're the woman who's not a woman!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Weakly.</i>] You're saying terrible things to me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Low and with intensity.</i>] You haven't been divorced
from me long enough to forget—what you should be ashamed to
remember.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Unable to face him and pretending not to understand
him.</i>] I don't know what you mean?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>More forcibly and with manly emotion.</i>] You're not
able to forget me! You know you're not able to forget me; ask
yourself if you are able to forget me, and when your heart, such
as it is, answers "no," then— [<i>The organ is plainly heard.</i>]
Well, then, prance gaily up to the altar and marry that, if you
can!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>He abruptly quits the room and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>moving to an armchair,
sinks into it, trembling.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>comes in and is joined by</i>
<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>. <i>They do not see</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>buried
deeply in her chair. Accordingly</i>, <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>moves over to
the sofa and waits. They are all dressed for an evening reception
and</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>is in the traditional bridegroom's rig.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_686" id="Page_686"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>As he enters.</i>] I am sure you will do your part,
Sarah—in a spirit of Christian decorum. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] It was
impossible to find my surplice, Philip, but the more informal the
better.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>With pompous responsibility.</i>] Where's Cynthia?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>gives a glance around the room.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Ah, here's the choir! [<i>He moves forward to meet it.</i>
<span class="smcap">Choir Boys</span> <i>come in very orderly; divide and take their places, an
even number on each side of the altar of flowers.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>vaguely
superintends.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>gets in the way of the bell and moves out of the
way.</i> <span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>comes in.</i>] Thomas, I directed you—One
moment, if you please. [<i>He indicates the tables and chairs which</i>
<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>hastens to push against the wall.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Walking forward and looking around him.</i>] Where's
Cynthia? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>rises, and, at the movement</i>, <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>sees her
and moves toward her. The organ grows suddenly silent.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Faintly.</i>] Here I am.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>comes down. Organ plays softly.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Ah, my very dear Cynthia, I knew
there was something. Let me tell you the words of the hymn I
have chosen:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Enduring love; sweet end of strife!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, bless this happy man and wife!"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>I'm afraid you feel—eh—eh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Desperately calm.</i>] I feel awfully queer—I think I
need a scotch.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Organ stops.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>remains uneasily at a little distance.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs.
Phillimore</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span> <i>enter back slowly, as cheerfully as if
they were going to hear the funeral service read. They remain
near the doorway.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity—I
mean—ceremony of this—this unique occasion, there should be
sufficient exhilaration.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With extraordinary control.</i>] But there isn't!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Feeling weak, she sits down.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> I don't think my Bishop would approve of—eh—anything
<i>before</i>!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Too agitated to know how much she is moved.</i>] I feel very queer.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_687" id="Page_687"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Piously sure that everything is for the best.</i>] My
dear child—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> However, I suppose there's nothing for it—now—but—to—to—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Courage!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Desperate and with a sudden explosion.</i>] Oh, don't
speak to me. I feel as if I'd been eating gunpowder, and the very
first word of the wedding service would set it off!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature.
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>speaks more rapidly and with growing excitement.</i>
<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>makes a movement toward the</i> <span class="smcap">Choir Boys</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Ah,—that's it—nature! [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>shakes his
head.</i>] I've a great mind to throw the reins on nature's
neck.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Matthew! [<i>He moves to take his stand for the
ceremony.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> [<i>Looks at</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>. <i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Philip is ready.
[<span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>comes forward and the organ plays the wedding
march.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>To herself, as if at bay.</i>] Ready? Ready? Ready?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm.
[<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>moves stiffly nearer to the table.</i>] Sarah! [<i>He
waves</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>in the direction of</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>at which she
advances a joyless step or two.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>goes over to give the
choir a low direction.</i>] Now please don't forget, my boys. When
I raise my hands so, you begin, "Enduring love, sweet end of
strife," etc. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>has risen. On the table by which she stands
is her long lace cloak.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>assumes sacerdotal importance
and takes his position inside the altar of flowers.</i>] Ahem! Philip!
[<i>He signs to</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>to take his position.</i>] Sarah! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>breathes fast, and supports herself against the table.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>,
<i>with the silent air of a martyr, goes toward her and stands for a
moment looking at her.</i>] The ceremony will now begin.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The organ plays Mendelssohn's wedding march.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>turns
and faces</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span>. <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>slowly reaches</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>and extends her hand in her readiness to lead the bride
to the altar.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Miss Heneage.</span> Mrs. Karslake!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> Ahem! [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>walks forward two or three steps.</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>stands as if turned to stone.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_688" id="Page_688"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Matthew.</span> My dear Cynthia. I request you—to take your
place. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves one or two steps as if to go up to the altar.
She takes</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage's</span> <i>hand and slowly they walk toward</i>
<span class="smcap">Matthew</span>.] Your husband to be—is ready, the ring is in my
pocket. I have only to ask you the—eh—necessary questions,—and—eh—all
will be blissfully over in a moment.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>The organ grows louder.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>At this moment, just as she reaches</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>, <i>stops,
faces round, looks him</i>, <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>and the rest in the face, and cries
out in despair.</i>] Thomas! Call a hansom! [<span class="smcap">Thomas</span> <i>goes out,
leaving the door open.</i> <span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>crosses the room quickly</i>;
<span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span>, <i>shocked into action, rises.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>catches up
her cloak from the table.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>turns and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>comes forward
and stops.</i>] I can't, Philip—I can't. [<i>Whistle of hansom is heard
off; the organ stops.</i>] It is simply a case of throwing the reins on
nature's neck—up anchor—and sit tight! [<span class="smcap">Matthew</span> <i>moves to</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Matthew, don't come near me! Yes, yes, I distrust
you. It's your business, and you'd marry me if you could.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> [<i>Watching her in dismay as she throws on her cloak.</i>]
Where are you going?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'm going to Jack.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Philip.</span> What for?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> To stop his marrying Vida. I'm blowing a hurricane
inside, a horrible, happy hurricane! I know myself—I
know what's the matter with me. If I married you and Miss
Heneage—what's the use of talking about it—he mustn't marry
that woman. He sha'n't. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>has now all her wraps on
and walks toward the door rapidly. To</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span>.] Sorry! So long!
Good-night and see you later.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Reaching the door, she goes out in blind haste and without further
ceremony.</i> <span class="smcap">Matthew</span>, <i>in absolute amazement, throws up his
arms.</i> <span class="smcap">Philip</span> <i>is rigid.</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Phillimore</span> <i>sinks into a chair.</i>
<span class="smcap">Miss Heneage</span> <i>stands supercilious and unmoved.</i> <span class="smcap">Grace</span>, <i>the
same. The choir, at <span class="smcap">Matthew's</span> gesture, mistakes it for the concerted
signal, and bursts lustily into the Epithalamis:</i></p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Enduring love—sweet end of strife!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, bless this happy man and wife!"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Curtain.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_689" id="Page_689"></SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="ACT_IV" id="ACT_IV"></SPAN>ACT IV.</h2>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span> <i>The scene is laid in</i> <span class="smcap">John Karslake's</span> <i>study and smoking-room.
There is a bay window on the left. A door on the left leads
to stairs and the front of the house, while a door at the back leads
to the dining-room. A fireplace and a mantel are on the right. A
bookcase contains law and sporting books. On the wall is a full-length
portrait of</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>. <i>Nothing of this portrait is seen by
audience except the gilt frame and a space of canvas. A large
table with writing materials is littered over with law books, sporting
books, papers, pipes, crops, a pair of spurs, &c. A wedding ring
lies on it. There are three very low easy-chairs. The general
appearance of the room is extremely gay and garish in colour. It
has the easy confusion of a man's room. There is a small table
on which, lying open, is a woman's sewing-basket, and, beside it, a
piece of rich fancy work, as if a lady had just risen from sewing.
Laid on the further end of it are a lady's gloves. On a chair-back
is a lady's hat. It is a half hour later than the close of Act III.
Curtains are drawn over the window. A lamp on the table is
lighted, as are, too, the various electric lights. One chair is conspicuously
standing on its head.</i></p>
</div>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>is busy at the larger table. The door into the dining-room
is half open.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Coming in from the dining-room.</i>] Eh—what
did you say your name was?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Nogam, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Nogam? I've been here thirty minutes. Where
are the cigars? [<span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>motions to a small table near the entrance
door.</i>] Thank you. Nogam, Mr. Karslake was to have followed
us here, immediately. [<i>He lights a cigar.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Mr. Karslake just now 'phoned from his club [<span class="smcap">Sir
Wilfrid</span> <i>walks toward the front of the room.</i>], and he's on his way
home, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Nogam, why is that chair upside down?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Our orders, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Speaking as she comes in.</i>] Oh, Wilfrid! [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>
<i>turns.</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>coming slowly toward him.</i>] I can't be left longer
alone with the lobster! He reminds me too much of Phillimore!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Karslake's coming; stopped at his club on the
way! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Nogam</span>.] You haven't heard anything of Mrs. Karslake—?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_690" id="Page_690"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>Surprised.</i>] No, sir!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>In an aside to</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>as they move right to appear
to be out of</i> <span class="smcap">Nogam's</span> <i>hearing.</i>] Deucedly odd, ye know—for the
Reverend Matthew declared she left Phillimore's house before
<i>he</i> did,—and she told them she was coming here!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>evidently takes this in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, she'll turn up.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Yes, but I don't see how the Reverend Phillimore
had the time to get here and make us man and wife, don't y' know—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, Matthew had a fast horse and Cynthia a slow one—or
she's a woman and changed her mind! Perhaps she's gone
back and married Phillimore. And besides, dear, Matthew
wasn't in the house four minutes and a half; only just long
enough to hoop the hoop. [<i>She twirls her new wedding ring gently
about her finger.</i>] Wasn't it lucky he had a ring in his
pocket?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Rather.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> And are you aware, dear, that Phillimore bought and
intended it for Cynthia? Do come [<i>Going toward the door through
which she has just entered.</i>], I'm desperately hungry! Whenever
I'm married that's the effect it has! [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>goes out and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>,
<i>following, stops to talk to</i> <span class="smcap">Nogam</span>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> We'll give Mr. Karslake ten minutes, Nogam.
If he does not come then, you might serve supper.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He joins</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span>.</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] Yes, sir. [<i>The outside door opens and</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span> <i>walks in.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> [<i>Easy and business-like.</i>] Hello, Nogam, where's
the guv'nor? That mare's off her oats, and I've got to see him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> He'll soon be here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Who was the parson I met leaving the house?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>Whispering.</i>] Sir Wilfrid and Mrs. Phillimore have
a date with the guv'nor in the dining-room, and the reverend
gentleman— [<i>He makes a gesture as of giving an ecclesiastical
blessing.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> [<i>Amazed.</i>] He hasn't spliced them? [<span class="smcap">Nogam</span>
<i>assents.</i>] He has? They're married? Never saw a parson could
resist it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Yes, but I've got another piece of news for you. Who
do you think the Rev. Phillimore expected to find <i>here</i>?<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_691" id="Page_691"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> [<i>Proud of having the knowledge.</i>] Mrs. Karslake? I
saw her headed this way in a hansom with a balky horse only a
minute ago. If she hoped to be in at the finish—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[Fiddler <i>is about to set the chair on its legs.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>Quickly.</i>] Mr. Fiddler, sir, please to let it alone.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> [<i>Putting the chair down in surprise.</i>] Does it live on
its blooming head?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Don't you remember? <i>She</i> threw it on its head when
she left here, and he won't have it up. Ah, that's it—hat, sewing-basket
and all,—the whole rig is to remain as it was when she
handed him his knock-out. [<i>A bell rings outside.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> There's the guv'nor—I hear him!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> I'll serve the supper. [<i>Taking a letter from his pocket
and putting it on the mantel.</i>] Mr. Fiddler, would you mind giving
this to the guv'nor? It's from his lawyer—his lawyer couldn't
find him and left it with me. He said it was very important.
[<i>The bell rings again. Speaking from the door to</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.]
I'm coming, sir!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>goes out, shutting the door.</i> <span class="smcap">John Karslake</span> <i>comes in.
His hat is pushed over his eyes; his hands are buried in his
pockets, and his appearance generally is one of weariness and
utter discouragement. He walks into the room slowly and heavily.
He sees</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>, <i>who salutes, forgetting the letter.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>slowly sinks into the arm-chair near his study table.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>As he walks to his chair.</i>] Hello, Fiddler! [<i>After a
pause,</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>throws himself into a chair, keeping his hat on. He
throws down his gloves, sighing.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia K.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Drearily.</i>] Damn Cynthia K!—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Couldn't have a word with you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Grumpy.</i>] No!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Fiddler.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Mrs. Karslake— [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span> <i>nods.</i>] You used to say
she was our mascot?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, she's just married herself to a—a sort of a man—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Sorry to hear it, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, Fiddler, between you and me, we're a pair of idiots.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_692" id="Page_692"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, sir!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> And now it's too late!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, sir—oh, beg your pardon, sir—your lawyer
left a letter. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>takes letter; opens it and reads it, indifferently
at first.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>As he opens the letter.</i>] What's he got to say, more than
what his wire said?—Eh— [<i>Dumbfounded as he reads.</i>] what?—Will
explain.—Error in wording of telegram.—Call me up.— [<i>Turning
quickly to the telephone.</i>] The man can't mean that she's
still—Hello! Hello! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>listens.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Would like to have a word with you, sir—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Hello, Central!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> That mare—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Consulting the letter, and speaking into the 'phone.</i>]
33246a 38! Did you get it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> That mare, sir, she's got a touch of malaria—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>At the 'phone.</i>] Hello, Central—33246a—38!—Clayton
Osgood—yes, yes, and say, Central—get a move on you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> If you think well of it, sir, I'll give her a
tonic—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Still at the 'phone.</i>] Hello! Yes—yes—Jack Karslake.
Is that you, Clayton? Yes—yes—well—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Or if you like, sir, I'll give her—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Turning on</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>.] Shut up! [<i>To 'phone.</i>] What
was that? Not you—not you—a technical error? You mean to
say that Mrs. Karslake is still—my—Hold the wire, Central—get
off the wire! Get off the wire! Is that you, Clayton?
Yes, yes—she and I are still—I got it! Good-bye! [<i>He
hangs up the receiver; falls back into a chair. For a moment he is
overcome. He takes up telephone book.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> All very well, Mr. Karslake, but I must know if I'm
to give her—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Turning over the leaves of the telephone book in hot
haste.</i>] What's Phillimore's number?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> If you've no objections, I think I'll give her a—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> L—M—N—O—P—It's too late! She's married
by this! Married!—and—my God—I—I am the cause. Phillimore—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> I'll give her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_693" id="Page_693"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Give her wheatina!—give her grape-nuts—give her
away! [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>, <i>biding his time, walks toward the window.</i>]
Only be quiet! Phillimore!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>comes in.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Hello! We'd almost given you up!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>In his agitation unable to find</i> Phillimore's <i>number.</i>]
Just a moment! I'm trying to get Phillimore on the 'phone
to—to tell Mrs. Karslake—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> No good, my boy—she's on her way here!
[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>drops the book and looks up dumbfounded.</i>] The Reverend
Matthew was here, y' see—and he said—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Rising, turns.</i>] Mrs. Karslake is coming here? [<span class="smcap">Sir
Wilfrid</span> <i>nods.</i>] To this house? Here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> That's right.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Coming here? You're sure? [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>nods assent.</i>]
Fiddler, I want you to stay here, and if Mrs. Karslake
comes, don't fail to let me know! Now then, for heaven's
sake, what did Matthew say to you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> Come along in and I'll tell you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> On your life now, Fiddler, don't fail to let me—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span> <i>carries</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>off with him.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>From the dining-room.</i>] Ah, here you are!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Phew!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>A moment's pause, and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>opens the front door, and comes
in very quietly, almost shyly, as if she were uncertain of her welcome.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Fiddler! Where is he? Has he come? Is he
here? Has he gone?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> [<i>Rattled.</i>] Nobody's gone, ma'am, except the Reverend
Matthew Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Matthew? He's been here and gone? [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>
<i>nods assent.</i>] You don't mean I'm too late? He's married
them already?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Nogam says he married them!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> He's married them! Married! Married before I
could get here! [<i>Sinking into an armchair.</i>] Married in less
time than it takes to pray for rain! Oh, well, the church—the
church is a regular quick marriage counter. [<span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>are heard in light-hearted laughter.</i>] Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> I'll tell Mr. Karslake<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_694" id="Page_694"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Rising and going to the dining-room door,
turns the key in the lock and takes it out.</i>] No—I wouldn't see
him for the world! [<i>Moving to the work-table with the key.</i>]
If I'm too late, I'm too late! and that's the end of it! [<i>Laying
the key on the table, she remains standing near it.</i>] I've come,
and now I'll go! [<i>There is a long pause during which</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>
<i>looks slowly about the room, then sighs and changes her tone.</i>]
Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as it used to be in my day.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> No, ma'am—everything changed, even the horses.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Absent-mindedly.</i>] Horses—how are the horses?</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>Throughout her talk with</i> Fiddler <i>she gives the idea that she is
saying good-bye to her life with</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.</p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Ah, when husband and wife splits, ma'am, it's
the horses that suffer. Oh, yes, ma'am, we're all changed since
you give us the go-by,—even the guv'nor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> How's he changed?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Lost his sharp for horses, and ladies, ma'am—gives
'em both the boiled eye.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I can't say I see any change; there's my portrait—I
suppose he sits and pulls faces at me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yes, ma'am, I think I'd better tell him of your bein' here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Gently but decidedly.</i>] No, Fiddler, no! [<i>Again
looking about her.</i>] The room's in a terrible state of disorder.
However, your new mistress will attend to that. [<i>Pause.</i>] Why,
that's not her hat!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Yours, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Mine? [<i>Walking to the table to look at it.</i>] Is that
my work-basket? [<i>After a pause.</i>] My gloves? [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>
<i>assents.</i>] And I suppose— [<i>Hurriedly going to the writing-table.</i>]
My—yes, there it is: my wedding ring!—just where I
dropped it! Oh, oh, oh, he keeps it like this—hat, gloves,
basket and ring, everything just as it was that crazy, mad day
when I— [<i>She glances at</i> <span class="smcap">Fiddler</span> <i>and breaks off.</i>] But for
heaven's sake, Fiddler, set that chair on its feet!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Against orders, ma'am.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Against orders?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> You kicked it over, ma'am, the day you left us.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No wonder he hates me with the chair in that state!
He nurses his wrath to keep it warm. So, after all, Fiddler,
everything <i>is</i> changed, and that chair is the proof of it. I<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_695" id="Page_695"></SPAN></span>
suppose Cynthia K is the only thing in the world that cares a
whinney whether I'm alive or dead. [<i>She breaks down and sobs.</i>]
How is she, Fiddler?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fiddler.</span> Off her oats, ma'am, this evening.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Off her oats! Well, she loves me, so I suppose she
will die, or change, or—or something. Oh, she'll die, there's no
doubt about that—she'll die. [<span class="smcap">Fiddler</span>, <i>who has been watching
his chance, takes the key off the table while she is sobbing, tiptoes
up stage, unlocks the door and goes out. After he has done so</i>,
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>rises and dries her eyes.</i>] There—I'm a fool—I must go—before—before—he—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>As she speaks her last word</i>, <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>comes in swiftly.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Mrs. Karslake!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Confused.</i>] I—I—I just heard Cynthia K was ill— [<span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>assents.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>tries to put on a cheerful and indifferent
manner.</i>] I—I ran round—I—and—and— [<i>Pausing,
she turns and takes a few steps.</i>] Well, I understand it's all over.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Cheerfully.</i>] Yes, it's all over.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> How is the bride?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, she's a wonder.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Indeed! Did she paw the ground like the war-horse
in the Bible? I'm sure when Vida sees a wedding ring she
smells the battle afar off. As for you, my dear Karslake, I
should have thought once bitten, twice shy! But, you know best.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Vida</span>, <i>unable to keep her finger long out of a pie, saunters in.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> Oh, Cynthia, I've just been through it again, and I
feel as if I were eighteen. There's no use talking about it, my
dear, with a woman it's never the second time! And how nice
you were, Jack,—he never even laughed at us! [<span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>
<i>follows her with hat and cane.</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>kisses</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] That's the
wages of virtue!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>In time to see her kiss</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] I say, is it the
custom? Every time she does that, my boy, you owe me a
thousand pounds. [<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>who approaches them, he
looks at her and</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>in turn.</i>] Mrs. Karslake. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] And
then you say it's not an extraordinary country!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>is more and more puzzled.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>.] See you next Derby, Jack! [<i>Walking to
the door. To</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>.] Come along, Wilfrid! We really
ought to be going. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] I hope, dear, you haven't<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_696" id="Page_696"></SPAN></span>
married him! Phillimore's a tomb! Good-bye, Cynthia—I'm
so happy! [<i>As she goes.</i>] Just think of the silly people, dear,
that only have this sensation once in a lifetime!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>follows</i> <span class="smcap">Vida</span> <i>out the door.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>.] Good-bye, Mrs. Karslake.
And I say, ye know, if you have married that dull old Phillimore
fellah, why, when you've divorced him, come over and stay at
Traynham! I mean, of course, ye know, bring your new husband.
There'll be lots o' horses to show you, and a whole covey
of jolly little Cates-Darbys. Mind you come! [<i>With real
delicacy of feeling and forgetting his wife.</i>] Never liked a woman as
much in my life as I did you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Vida.</span> [<i>Outside; calling him.</i>] Wilfrid, dear!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid.</span> [<i>Loyal to the woman who has caught him.</i>] —except
the one that's calling me!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">John</span> <i>returns, and</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Wilfrid</span>, <i>nodding to him, goes out.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>shuts the door and crosses the room. There is a pause.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> So you're not married?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No. But I know that you imagined I was.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>After a pause.</i>] I suppose you think a woman has
no right to divorce a man—and still continue to feel a keen interest
in his affairs?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see
how—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> A woman can be divorced—and still— [<span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>assents; she hides her embarrassment.</i>] Well, my dear Karslake,
you've a long life before you, in which to learn how such a state
of mind is possible! So I won't stop to explain. Will you be
kind enough to get me a cab? [<i>She moves to the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Certainly. I was going to say I am not surprised at
your feeling an interest in me. I'm only astonished that, having
actually married Phillimore, you come here—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Indignantly.</i>] I'm not married to him!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Silent for a moment.</i>] I left you on the brink—made
me feel a little uncertain.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>In a matter of course tone.</i>] I changed my mind—that's all.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Taking his tone from her.</i>] Of course. [<i>After an interval.</i>]
Are you going to marry him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't know.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_697" id="Page_697"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Does he know you—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I told him I was coming here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh! He'll turn up here, then—eh? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>is
silent.</i>] And you'll go back with him, I suppose?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Talking at random.</i>] Oh—yes—I suppose so. I—I
haven't thought much about it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Changing his tone.</i>] Well, sit down; do. Till he
comes—talk it over. [<i>He places the armchair more comfortably
for her.</i>] This is a more comfortable chair!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Shamefacedly.</i>] You never liked me to sit in that one!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, well—it's different now. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves and sits
down, near the upset chair. There is a long pause, during which</i>
<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>thoughtfully paces the room.</i>] You don't mind if I smoke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Shaking her head.</i>] No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Lighting his pipe and sitting down on the arm of a chair.</i>]
Of course, if you find my presence painful, I'll—skiddoo.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>He indicates the door.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>shakes her head.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>smokes
his pipe and remains seated.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Suddenly and quickly.</i>] It's just simply a fact,
Karslake, and that's all there is to it—if a woman has once been
married—that is, the first man she marries—then—she may
quarrel, she may hate him—she may despise him—but she'll
always be jealous of him with other women. Always! [<span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>takes this as if he were simply glad to have the information.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh—H'm! ah—yes—yes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>After a pause.</i>] You probably felt jealous of Phillimore.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Reasonably, sweetly, and in doubt.</i>] N-o! [<i>Apologetically.</i>]
I felt simply: Let him take his medicine.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I beg your pardon—I meant—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You meant what you said!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Moving a step toward her.</i>] Mrs. Karslake; I apologize—I
won't do it again. But it's too late for you to be out alone—Philip
will be here in a moment—and of course, then—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> It isn't what you <i>say</i>—it's—it's—it's everything.
It's the entire situation. Suppose by any chance I don't marry
Phillimore! And suppose I were seen at two or three in the
morning leaving my former husband's house! It's all wrong. I
have no business to be here! I'm going! You're perfectly horrid<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_698" id="Page_698"></SPAN></span>
to me, you know—and—the whole place—it's so familiar, and
so—so associated with—with—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Discord and misery—I know—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Not at all with discord and misery! With harmony
and happiness—with—with first love, and infinite hope—and—and—Jack
Karslake,—if you don't set that chair on its legs, I
think I'll explode. [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>crosses the room rapidly, and sets the
chair on its legs. His tone changes.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>While setting chair on its legs.</i>] There! I beg your pardon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Nervously.</i>] I believe I hear Philip. [<i>She rises.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Going up to the window.</i>] N-o! That's the policeman
trying the front door! And now, see here, Mrs. Karslake,—you're
only here for a short minute, because you can't help yourself,
but I want you to understand that I'm not trying to be
disagreeable—I don't want to revive all the old unhappy—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Very well, if you don't—give me my hat. [<span class="smcap">John</span>
<i>does so.</i>] And my sewing! And my gloves, please! [<i>She indicates
the several articles which lie on the small table.</i>] Thanks!
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>throws the lot into the fireplace, and returns to the place
she has left near table.</i>] There! I feel better! And now—all I ask is—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing.</i>] My stars, what a pleasure it is!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> What is?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Seeing you in a whirlwind!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Wounded by his seeming indifference.</i>] Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No, but I mean, a real pleasure! Why not? Time's
passed since you and I were together—and—eh—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> And you've forgotten what a vile temper I had!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Reflectively.</i>] Well, you did kick the stuffing out of the
matrimonial buggy—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Pointedly but with good temper.</i>] It wasn't a buggy;
it was a break cart— [<i>She stands back of the arm-chair.</i>] It's
all very well to blame me! But when you married me, I'd never
had a bit in my mouth!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, I guess I had a pretty hard hand. Do you
remember the time you threw both your slippers out of the window?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Yes, and do you remember the time you took my
fan from me by force?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> After you slapped my face with it!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_699" id="Page_699"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, oh! I hardly touched your face! And do you
remember the day you held my wrists?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You were going to bite me!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack! I never! I showed my teeth at you! And I
<i>said</i> I would bite you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word! [<i>He
laughs. Casually.</i>] And anyhow—they were awfully pretty
teeth! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>though bolt upright, has ceased to seem pained.</i>]
And I say—do you remember, Cyn—</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He leans over her armchair to talk.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>After a pause.</i>] You oughtn't to call me "Cyn"—it's
not nice of you. It's sort of cruel. I'm not—Cyn to you
now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Awfully sorry; didn't mean to be beastly, Cyn.
[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>turns quickly.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>stamps his foot.</i>] Cynthia! Sorry.
I'll make it a commandment: thou shalt not Cyn!!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>laughs and wipes her eyes.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> How can you, Jack? How can you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, hang it, my dear child, I—I'm sorry, but you
know I always got foolish with you. Your laugh'd make a horse
laugh. Why, don't you remember that morning in the park
before breakfast—when you laughed so hard your horse ran
away with you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I do, I do! [<i>Both laugh. The door opens and</i>
<span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>comes in, unnoticed by either.</i>] But what was it started me
laughing? [<i>Laughing, she sits down and laughs again.</i>] That
morning. Wasn't it somebody we met? [<i>Laughing afresh.</i>]
Wasn't it a man on a horse? [<i>As her memory pieces the picture, she
again goes off into laughter.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing too.</i>] Of course! You didn't know him in
those days! But I did! And he looked a sight in the saddle!</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<span class="smcap">Nogam</span>, <i>trying to catch their attention, moves toward the table.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Who was it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Phillimore!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> He's no laughing matter now. [<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Nogam</span>.]
Jack, he's here!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Eh? Oh, Nogam?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> Mr. Phillimore, sir—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> In the house?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> On the street in a hansom, sir—and he requests Mrs.
Karslake<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_700" id="Page_700"></SPAN></span>—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> That'll do, Nogam. [<span class="smcap">Nogam</span> <i>goes out and there is a
pause.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span>, <i>on his way to the window, looks at</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>, <i>who
has slowly risen and turned her back to him.</i>] Well, Cynthia?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He speaks almost gravely and with finality.</i>]</span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Trembling.</i>] Well?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> It's the hour of decision; are you going to marry him?
[<i>Pause.</i>] Speak up!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack,—I—I—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> There he is—you can join him. [<i>He points to the street.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Join Phillimore—and go home—with him—to his
house, and Miss Heneage and—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> The door's open. [<i>He points to the door.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No, no! It's mean of you to suggest it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You won't marry—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Phillimore—no; never. [<i>Running to the window.</i>]
No; never, never, Jack.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Opening the window and calling out.</i>] It's all right,
Judge. You needn't wait.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>There is a pause.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>leaves the window and bursts into laughter.
He moves toward the door and closes it.</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>looks dazed.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Jack! [<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>laughs.</i>] Yes, but I'm here, Jack.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> You'll have to take me round to the Holland House!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Of course, I will! But, I say, Cynthia, there's no hurry.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why, I—I—can't stay here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No, of course you can't stay here. But you can have a
bite, though. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>shakes her head.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>places the small
chair, which was upset, next to the table, and the armchair close by.</i>]
Oh, I insist. Just look at yourself—you're as pale as a sheet and—here,
here. Sit right down. I insist! By George, you must
do it! [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>moves to the chair drawn up to the table, and sits
down.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Faintly.</i>] I <i>am</i> hungry.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Just wait a moment.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">John</span> <i>rushes out, leaving the door open.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't want more than a nibble! [<i>After a pause.</i>]
I am sorry to give you so much trouble.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> No trouble at all. [<i>From the dining-room comes the
cheerful noise of glasses and silver.</i>] A hansom, of course, to take
you round to your hotel? [<i>Speaking as he returns with a tray.</i><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_701" id="Page_701"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>To herself.</i>] I wonder how I ever dreamed I could
marry that man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Now by the table.</i>] Can't imagine! There!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I am hungry. Don't forget the hansom.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>She eats; he waits on her, setting this and that before her.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Goes to the door, opens it and calls.</i>] Nogam, a hansom at once.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>From without.</i>] Yes, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Again at the table, shows, and from now on continues
to show, his true feelings for her.</i>] How does it go?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Faintly.</i>] It goes all right. Thanks!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>Hardly eating at all.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> You always used to like anchovy. [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>nods and
eats.</i>] Claret? [<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>shakes her head.</i>] Oh, but you must!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Tremulously.</i>] Ever so little. [<i>He fills her glass and
then his.</i>] Thanks!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Here's to old times! [<i>Raising his glass.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Very tremulous.</i>] Please not!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, here's to your next husband.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Very tenderly.</i>] Don't!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, well, then, what shall the toast be?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'll tell you— [<i>After a pause.</i>] you can drink to the
relation I am to you!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing.</i>] Well—what relation are you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I'm your first wife once removed!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Laughing, drinks.</i>] I say, you're feeling better.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Lots.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Reminiscent.</i>] It's a good deal like those mornings
after the races—isn't it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Nods.</i>] Yes. [<i>Half-rising.</i>] Is that the hansom?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Going up to the window.</i>] No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Sitting down again.</i>] What is that sound?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Don't you remember?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> That's the rumbling of the early milk wagons.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, Jack.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Do you recognize it now?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Do I? We used to hear that—just at the hour,
didn't we—when we came back from awfully jolly late suppers and things!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> H'm!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_702" id="Page_702"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> It must be fearfully late. I must go.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>She rises and moves to the chair where she has left her cloak. She
sees that</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>will not help her and puts it on herself.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Oh, don't go—why go?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Embarrassed and agitated.</i>] All good things come to
an end, you know.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> They don't need to.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, you don't mean that! And, you know, Jack,
if I were caught—seen at this hour, leaving this house, you know—it's
the most scandalous thing any one ever did, my being here
at all. Good-bye, Jack! [<i>After a pause and almost in tears.</i>] I'd
like to say, I—I—I—well, I sha'n't be bitter about you hereafter,
and— [<i>Halting.</i>] Thank you awfully, old man, for the fodder
and all that! [<i>She turns to go out.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Mrs. Karslake—wait—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Stopping to hear.</i>] Well?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Serious.</i>] I've rather an ugly bit of news for you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Yes?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I don't believe you know that I have been testing the
validity of the decree of divorce which you procured.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Oh, have you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Yes; you know I felt pretty warmly about it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Well?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Well, I've been successful. [<i>After a pause.</i>] The
decree's been declared invalid. Understand?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Looking at him for a moment; then speaking.</i>]
Not—precisely.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>After a moment's silence.</i>] I'm awfully sorry—I'm
awfully sorry, Cynthia, but, you're my wife still.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>There is a pause.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>With rapture.</i>] Honour bright?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She sinks into the armchair.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Nods. Half laughingly.</i>] Crazy country, isn't it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Nods. After an interval.</i>] Well, Jack—what's to
be done?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Gently.</i>] Whatever you say.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He moves a few steps toward her.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Nogam.</span> [<i>Quietly coming in.</i>] Hansom, sir.</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>He goes out and</i> <span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>rises.</i></span><br/>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_703" id="Page_703"></SPAN></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why don't you finish your supper?</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span> <i>hesitates.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> The—the—hansom—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Why go to the Holland? After all—you know, Cyn,
you're at home here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No, Jack, I'm not—I'm not at home here—unless—unless—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Out with it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Bursting into tears.</i>] Unless I—unless I'm at home
in your heart, Jack!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> What do you think?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> I don't believe you want me to stay.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Don't you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> No, no, you hate me still. You never can forgive
me. I know you can't. For I can never forgive myself. Never,
Jack, never, never!</p>
<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">[<i>She sobs and he takes her in his arms.</i></span><br/></p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Very tenderly.</i>] Cyn! I love you! [<i>Strongly.</i>] And
you've got to stay! And hereafter you can chuck chairs around
till all's blue! Not a word now.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>[<i>He draws her gently to a chair.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Wiping her tears.</i>] Oh, Jack! Jack!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> I'm as hungry as a shark. We'll nibble together.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Well, all I can say is, I feel that of all the improprieties
I ever committed this—this—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> This takes the claret, eh? Oh, Lord, how happy I am!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Now don't say that! You'll make me cry more.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>She wipes her eyes.</i> <span class="smcap">John</span> <i>takes out the wedding ring from his
pocket; he lifts a wine-glass, drops the ring into it and offers her
the glass.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Cynthia!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> [<i>Looking at it and wiping her eyes.</i>] What is it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Benedictine!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> Why, you know I never take it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> Take this one for my sake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cynthia.</span> That's not benedictine. [<i>With gentle curiosity.</i>]
What is it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">John.</span> [<i>Slides the ring out of the glass and puts his arm about</i>
<span class="smcap">Cynthia</span>. <i>He slips the ring on to her finger and, as he kisses her
hand, says</i>:] Your wedding ring!</p>
<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">Curtain.</span><br/></p>
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