  Scene. The scene is laid in John Karslake's 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 Cynthia. 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. Nogam is busy at the larger table. The door into the dining-room is half open. Sir Wilfrid. [Coming in from the dining-room.] Eh—what did you say your name was? Nogam. Nogam, sir. Sir Wilfrid. Nogam? I've been here thirty minutes. Where are the cigars? [Nogam motions to a small table near the entrance door.] Thank you. Nogam, Mr. Karslake was to have followed us here, immediately. [He lights a cigar. Nogam. Mr. Karslake just now 'phoned from his club [Sir Wilfrid walks toward the front of the room.], and he's on his way home, sir. Sir Wilfrid. Nogam, why is that chair upside down? Nogam. Our orders, sir. Vida. [Speaking as she comes in.] Oh, Wilfrid! [Sir Wilfrid turns. Vida coming slowly toward him.] I can't be left longer alone with the lobster! He reminds me too much of Phillimore! Sir Wilfrid. Karslake's coming; stopped at his club on the way! [To Nogam.] You haven't heard anything of Mrs. Karslake—? Nogam. [Surprised.] No, sir! Sir Wilfrid. [In an aside to Vida, as they move right to appear to be out of Nogam's hearing.] Deucedly odd, ye know—for the Reverend Matthew declared she left Phillimore's house before he did,—and she told them she was coming here! [Nogam evidently takes this in. Vida. Oh, she'll turn up. Sir Wilfrid. 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— Vida. 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. [She twirls her new wedding ring gently about her finger.] Wasn't it lucky he had a ring in his pocket? Sir Wilfrid. Rather. Vida. And are you aware, dear, that Phillimore bought and intended it for Cynthia? Do come [Going toward the door through which she has just entered.], I'm desperately hungry! Whenever I'm married that's the effect it has! [Vida goes out and Sir Wilfrid, following, stops to talk to Nogam. Sir Wilfrid. We'll give Mr. Karslake ten minutes, Nogam. If he does not come then, you might serve supper. [He joins Vida. Nogam. [To Sir Wilfrid.] Yes, sir. [The outside door opens and Fiddler walks in. Fiddler. [Easy and business-like.] Hello, Nogam, where's the guv'nor? That mare's off her oats, and I've got to see him. Nogam. He'll soon be here. Fiddler. Who was the parson I met leaving the house? Nogam. [Whispering.] Sir Wilfrid and Mrs. Phillimore have a date with the guv'nor in the dining-room, and the reverend gentleman— [He makes a gesture as of giving an ecclesiastical blessing. Fiddler. [Amazed.] He hasn't spliced them? [Nogam assents.] He has? They're married? Never saw a parson could resist it! Nogam. Yes, but I've got another piece of news for you. Who do you think the Rev. Phillimore expected to find here? Fiddler. [Proud of having the knowledge.] 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— [Fiddler is about to set the chair on its legs. Nogam. [Quickly.] Mr. Fiddler, sir, please to let it alone. Fiddler. [Putting the chair down in surprise.] Does it live on its blooming head? Nogam. Don't you remember? She 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. [A bell rings outside. Fiddler. There's the guv'nor—I hear him! Nogam. I'll serve the supper. [Taking a letter from his pocket and putting it on the mantel.] 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. [The bell rings again. Speaking from the door to Sir Wilfrid.] I'm coming, sir! Nogam goes out, shutting the door. John Karslake 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 Fiddler, who salutes, forgetting the letter. John slowly sinks into the arm-chair near his study table. John. [As he walks to his chair.] Hello, Fiddler! [After a pause, John throws himself into a chair, keeping his hat on. He throws down his gloves, sighing. Fiddler. Came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia K. John. [Drearily.] Damn Cynthia K!— Fiddler. Couldn't have a word with you? John. [Grumpy.] No! Fiddler. Yes, sir. John. Fiddler. Fiddler. Yes, sir. John. Mrs. Karslake— [Fiddler nods.] You used to say she was our mascot? Fiddler. Yes, sir. John. Well, she's just married herself to a—a sort of a man— Fiddler. Sorry to hear it, sir. John. Well, Fiddler, between you and me, we're a pair of idiots. Fiddler. Yes, sir! John. And now it's too late! Fiddler. Yes, sir—oh, beg your pardon, sir—your lawyer left a letter. [John takes letter; opens it and reads it, indifferently at first. John. [As he opens the letter.] What's he got to say, more than what his wire said?—Eh— [Dumbfounded as he reads.] what?—Will explain.—Error in wording of telegram.—Call me up.— [Turning quickly to the telephone.] The man can't mean that she's still—Hello! Hello! [John listens. Fiddler. Would like to have a word with you, sir— John. Hello, Central! Fiddler. That mare— John. [Consulting the letter, and speaking into the 'phone.] 33246a 38! Did you get it? Fiddler. That mare, sir, she's got a touch of malaria— John. [At the 'phone.] Hello, Central—33246a—38!—Clayton Osgood—yes, yes, and say, Central—get a move on you! Fiddler. If you think well of it, sir, I'll give her a tonic— John. [Still at the 'phone.] Hello! Yes—yes—Jack Karslake. Is that you, Clayton? Yes—yes—well— Fiddler. Or if you like, sir, I'll give her— John. [Turning on Fiddler.] Shut up! [To 'phone.] 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! [He hangs up the receiver; falls back into a chair. For a moment he is overcome. He takes up telephone book. Fiddler. All very well, Mr. Karslake, but I must know if I'm to give her— John. [Turning over the leaves of the telephone book in hot haste.] What's Phillimore's number? Fiddler. If you've no objections, I think I'll give her a— John. L—M—N—O—P—It's too late! She's married by this! Married!—and—my God—I—I am the cause. Phillimore— Fiddler. I'll give her John. Give her wheatina!—give her grape-nuts—give her away! [Fiddler, biding his time, walks toward the window.] Only be quiet! Phillimore! [Sir Wilfrid comes in. Sir Wilfrid. Hello! We'd almost given you up! John. [In his agitation unable to find Phillimore's number.] Just a moment! I'm trying to get Phillimore on the 'phone to—to tell Mrs. Karslake— Sir Wilfrid. No good, my boy—she's on her way here! [John drops the book and looks up dumbfounded.] The Reverend Matthew was here, y' see—and he said— John. [Rising, turns.] Mrs. Karslake is coming here? [Sir Wilfrid nods.] To this house? Here? Sir Wilfrid. That's right. John. Coming here? You're sure? [Sir Wilfrid nods assent.] 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? Sir Wilfrid. Come along in and I'll tell you. John. On your life now, Fiddler, don't fail to let me— [Sir Wilfrid carries John off with him. Vida. [From the dining-room.] Ah, here you are! Fiddler. Phew! A moment's pause, and Cynthia opens the front door, and comes in very quietly, almost shyly, as if she were uncertain of her welcome. Cynthia. Fiddler! Where is he? Has he come? Is he here? Has he gone? Fiddler. [Rattled.] Nobody's gone, ma'am, except the Reverend Matthew Phillimore. Cynthia. Matthew? He's been here and gone? [Fiddler nods assent.] You don't mean I'm too late? He's married them already? Fiddler. Nogam says he married them! Cynthia. He's married them! Married! Married before I could get here! [Sinking into an armchair.] Married in less time than it takes to pray for rain! Oh, well, the church—the church is a regular quick marriage counter. [Vida and John are heard in light-hearted laughter.] Oh! Fiddler. I'll tell Mr. Karslake Cynthia. [Rising and going to the dining-room door, turns the key in the lock and takes it out.] No—I wouldn't see him for the world! [Moving to the work-table with the key.] If I'm too late, I'm too late! and that's the end of it! [Laying the key on the table, she remains standing near it.] I've come, and now I'll go! [There is a long pause during which Cynthia looks slowly about the room, then sighs and changes her tone.] Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as it used to be in my day. Fiddler. No, ma'am—everything changed, even the horses. Cynthia. [Absent-mindedly.] Horses—how are the horses? [Throughout her talk with Fiddler she gives the idea that she is saying good-bye to her life with John. Fiddler. 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. Cynthia. How's he changed? Fiddler. Lost his sharp for horses, and ladies, ma'am—gives 'em both the boiled eye. Cynthia. I can't say I see any change; there's my portrait—I suppose he sits and pulls faces at me. Fiddler. Yes, ma'am, I think I'd better tell him of your bein' here. Cynthia. [Gently but decidedly.] No, Fiddler, no! [Again looking about her.] The room's in a terrible state of disorder. However, your new mistress will attend to that. [Pause.] Why, that's not her hat! Fiddler. Yours, ma'am. Cynthia. Mine? [Walking to the table to look at it.] Is that my work-basket? [After a pause.] My gloves? [Fiddler assents.] And I suppose— [Hurriedly going to the writing-table.] 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— [She glances at Fiddler and breaks off.] But for heaven's sake, Fiddler, set that chair on its feet! Fiddler. Against orders, ma'am. Cynthia. Against orders? Fiddler. You kicked it over, ma'am, the day you left us. Cynthia. No wonder he hates me with the chair in that state! He nurses his wrath to keep it warm. So, after all, Fiddler, everything is changed, and that chair is the proof of it. I Fiddler. Off her oats, ma'am, this evening. Cynthia. 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. [Fiddler, 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, Cynthia rises and dries her eyes.] There—I'm a fool—I must go—before—before—he— [As she speaks her last word, John comes in swiftly. John. Mrs. Karslake! Cynthia. [Confused.] I—I—I just heard Cynthia K was ill— [John assents. Cynthia tries to put on a cheerful and indifferent manner.] I—I ran round—I—and—and— [Pausing, she turns and takes a few steps.] Well, I understand it's all over. John. [Cheerfully.] Yes, it's all over. Cynthia. How is the bride? John. Oh, she's a wonder. Cynthia. 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. Vida, unable to keep her finger long out of a pie, saunters in. Vida. 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! [Sir Wilfrid follows her with hat and cane. Vida kisses John.] That's the wages of virtue! Sir Wilfrid. [In time to see her kiss John.] I say, is it the custom? Every time she does that, my boy, you owe me a thousand pounds. [Seeing Cynthia, who approaches them, he looks at her and John in turn.] Mrs. Karslake. [To John.] And then you say it's not an extraordinary country! [Cynthia is more and more puzzled. Vida. [To John.] See you next Derby, Jack! [Walking to the door. To Sir Wilfrid.] Come along, Wilfrid! We really ought to be going. [To Cynthia.] I hope, dear, you haven't [John follows Vida out the door. Sir Wilfrid. [To Cynthia.] 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! [With real delicacy of feeling and forgetting his wife.] Never liked a woman as much in my life as I did you! Vida. [Outside; calling him.] Wilfrid, dear! Sir Wilfrid. [Loyal to the woman who has caught him.] —except the one that's calling me! John returns, and Sir Wilfrid, nodding to him, goes out. John shuts the door and crosses the room. There is a pause. Cynthia. So you're not married? John. No. But I know that you imagined I was. Cynthia. [After a pause.] I suppose you think a woman has no right to divorce a man—and still continue to feel a keen interest in his affairs? John. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see how— Cynthia. A woman can be divorced—and still— [John assents; she hides her embarrassment.] 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? [She moves to the door. John. 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— Cynthia. [Indignantly.] I'm not married to him! John. [Silent for a moment.] I left you on the brink—made me feel a little uncertain. Cynthia. [In a matter of course tone.] I changed my mind—that's all. John. [Taking his tone from her.] Of course. [After an interval.] Are you going to marry him? Cynthia. I don't know. John. Does he know you— Cynthia. I told him I was coming here. John. Oh! He'll turn up here, then—eh? [Cynthia is silent.] And you'll go back with him, I suppose? Cynthia. [Talking at random.] Oh—yes—I suppose so. I—I haven't thought much about it. John. [Changing his tone.] Well, sit down; do. Till he comes—talk it over. [He places the armchair more comfortably for her.] This is a more comfortable chair! Cynthia. [Shamefacedly.] You never liked me to sit in that one! John. Oh, well—it's different now. [Cynthia moves and sits down, near the upset chair. There is a long pause, during which John thoughtfully paces the room.] You don't mind if I smoke? Cynthia. [Shaking her head.] No. John. [Lighting his pipe and sitting down on the arm of a chair.] Of course, if you find my presence painful, I'll—skiddoo. He indicates the door. Cynthia shakes her head. John smokes his pipe and remains seated. Cynthia. [Suddenly and quickly.] 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! [John takes this as if he were simply glad to have the information. John. Oh—H'm! ah—yes—yes. Cynthia. [After a pause.] You probably felt jealous of Phillimore. John. [Reasonably, sweetly, and in doubt.] N-o! [Apologetically.] I felt simply: Let him take his medicine. Cynthia. Oh! John. I beg your pardon—I meant— Cynthia. You meant what you said! John. [Moving a step toward her.] 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— Cynthia. It isn't what you say—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 John. Discord and misery—I know— Cynthia. 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. [John crosses the room rapidly, and sets the chair on its legs. His tone changes. John. [While setting chair on its legs.] There! I beg your pardon. Cynthia. [Nervously.] I believe I hear Philip. [She rises. John. [Going up to the window.] 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— Cynthia. Very well, if you don't—give me my hat. [John does so.] And my sewing! And my gloves, please! [She indicates the several articles which lie on the small table.] Thanks! [Cynthia throws the lot into the fireplace, and returns to the place she has left near table.] There! I feel better! And now—all I ask is— John. [Laughing.] My stars, what a pleasure it is! Cynthia. What is? John. Seeing you in a whirlwind! Cynthia. [Wounded by his seeming indifference.] Oh! John. No, but I mean, a real pleasure! Why not? Time's passed since you and I were together—and—eh— Cynthia. And you've forgotten what a vile temper I had! John. [Reflectively.] Well, you did kick the stuffing out of the matrimonial buggy— Cynthia. [Pointedly but with good temper.] It wasn't a buggy; it was a break cart— [She stands back of the arm-chair.] It's all very well to blame me! But when you married me, I'd never had a bit in my mouth! John. Well, I guess I had a pretty hard hand. Do you remember the time you threw both your slippers out of the window? Cynthia. Yes, and do you remember the time you took my fan from me by force? John. After you slapped my face with it! Cynthia. Oh, oh! I hardly touched your face! And do you remember the day you held my wrists? John. You were going to bite me! Cynthia. Jack! I never! I showed my teeth at you! And I said I would bite you! John. Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word! [He laughs. Casually.] And anyhow—they were awfully pretty teeth! [Cynthia, though bolt upright, has ceased to seem pained.] And I say—do you remember, Cyn— [He leans over her armchair to talk. Cynthia. [After a pause.] 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. John. Awfully sorry; didn't mean to be beastly, Cyn. [Cynthia turns quickly. John stamps his foot.] Cynthia! Sorry. I'll make it a commandment: thou shalt not Cyn!! [Cynthia laughs and wipes her eyes. Cynthia. How can you, Jack? How can you? John. 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! Cynthia. I do, I do! [Both laugh. The door opens and Nogam comes in, unnoticed by either.] But what was it started me laughing? [Laughing, she sits down and laughs again.] That morning. Wasn't it somebody we met? [Laughing afresh.] Wasn't it a man on a horse? [As her memory pieces the picture, she again goes off into laughter. John. [Laughing too.] Of course! You didn't know him in those days! But I did! And he looked a sight in the saddle! [Nogam, trying to catch their attention, moves toward the table. Cynthia. Who was it? John. Phillimore! Cynthia. He's no laughing matter now. [Seeing Nogam.] Jack, he's here! John. Eh? Oh, Nogam? Nogam. Mr. Phillimore, sir— John. In the house? Nogam. On the street in a hansom, sir—and he requests Mrs. Karslake John. That'll do, Nogam. [Nogam goes out and there is a pause. John, on his way to the window, looks at Cynthia, who has slowly risen and turned her back to him.] Well, Cynthia? [He speaks almost gravely and with finality.] Cynthia. [Trembling.] Well? John. It's the hour of decision; are you going to marry him? [Pause.] Speak up! Cynthia. Jack,—I—I— John. There he is—you can join him. [He points to the street. Cynthia. Join Phillimore—and go home—with him—to his house, and Miss Heneage and— John. The door's open. [He points to the door. Cynthia. No, no! It's mean of you to suggest it! John. You won't marry— Cynthia. Phillimore—no; never. [Running to the window.] No; never, never, Jack. John. [Opening the window and calling out.] It's all right, Judge. You needn't wait. There is a pause. John leaves the window and bursts into laughter. He moves toward the door and closes it. Cynthia looks dazed. Cynthia. Jack! [John laughs.] Yes, but I'm here, Jack. John. Why not? Cynthia. You'll have to take me round to the Holland House! John. Of course, I will! But, I say, Cynthia, there's no hurry. Cynthia. Why, I—I—can't stay here. John. No, of course you can't stay here. But you can have a bite, though. [Cynthia shakes her head. John places the small chair, which was upset, next to the table, and the armchair close by.] 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! [Cynthia moves to the chair drawn up to the table, and sits down. Cynthia. [Faintly.] I am hungry. John. Just wait a moment. [John rushes out, leaving the door open. Cynthia. I don't want more than a nibble! [After a pause.] I am sorry to give you so much trouble. John. No trouble at all. [From the dining-room comes the cheerful noise of glasses and silver.] A hansom, of course, to take you round to your hotel? [Speaking as he returns with a tray. Cynthia. [To herself.] I wonder how I ever dreamed I could marry that man. John. [Now by the table.] Can't imagine! There! Cynthia. I am hungry. Don't forget the hansom. [She eats; he waits on her, setting this and that before her. John. [Goes to the door, opens it and calls.] Nogam, a hansom at once. Nogam. [From without.] Yes, sir. John. [Again at the table, shows, and from now on continues to show, his true feelings for her.] How does it go? Cynthia. [Faintly.] It goes all right. Thanks! [Hardly eating at all. John. You always used to like anchovy. [Cynthia nods and eats.] Claret? [Cynthia shakes her head.] Oh, but you must! Cynthia. [Tremulously.] Ever so little. [He fills her glass and then his.] Thanks! John. Here's to old times! [Raising his glass. Cynthia. [Very tremulous.] Please not! John. Well, here's to your next husband. Cynthia. [Very tenderly.] Don't! John. Oh, well, then, what shall the toast be? Cynthia. I'll tell you— [After a pause.] you can drink to the relation I am to you! John. [Laughing.] Well—what relation are you? Cynthia. I'm your first wife once removed! John. [Laughing, drinks.] I say, you're feeling better. Cynthia. Lots. John. [Reminiscent.] It's a good deal like those mornings after the races—isn't it? Cynthia. [Nods.] Yes. [Half-rising.] Is that the hansom? John. [Going up to the window.] No. Cynthia. [Sitting down again.] What is that sound? John. Don't you remember? Cynthia. No. John. That's the rumbling of the early milk wagons. Cynthia. Oh, Jack. John. Do you recognize it now? Cynthia. 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! John. H'm! Cynthia. It must be fearfully late. I must go. She rises and moves to the chair where she has left her cloak. She sees that John will not help her and puts it on herself. John. Oh, don't go—why go? Cynthia. [Embarrassed and agitated.] All good things come to an end, you know. John. They don't need to. Cynthia. 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! [After a pause and almost in tears.] I'd like to say, I—I—I—well, I sha'n't be bitter about you hereafter, and— [Halting.] Thank you awfully, old man, for the fodder and all that! [She turns to go out. John. Mrs. Karslake—wait— Cynthia. [Stopping to hear.] Well? John. [Serious.] I've rather an ugly bit of news for you. Cynthia. Yes? John. I don't believe you know that I have been testing the validity of the decree of divorce which you procured. Cynthia. Oh, have you? John. Yes; you know I felt pretty warmly about it. Cynthia. Well? John. Well, I've been successful. [After a pause.] The decree's been declared invalid. Understand? Cynthia. [Looking at him for a moment; then speaking.] Not—precisely. John. [After a moment's silence.] I'm awfully sorry—I'm awfully sorry, Cynthia, but, you're my wife still. [There is a pause. Cynthia. [With rapture.] Honour bright? [She sinks into the armchair. John. [Nods. Half laughingly.] Crazy country, isn't it? Cynthia. [Nods. After an interval.] Well, Jack—what's to be done? John. [Gently.] Whatever you say. [He moves a few steps toward her. Nogam. [Quietly coming in.] Hansom, sir. [He goes out and Cynthia rises. John. Why don't you finish your supper? [Cynthia hesitates. Cynthia. The—the—hansom— John. Why go to the Holland? After all—you know, Cyn, you're at home here. Cynthia. No, Jack, I'm not—I'm not at home here—unless—unless— John. Out with it! Cynthia. [Bursting into tears.] Unless I—unless I'm at home in your heart, Jack! John. What do you think? Cynthia. I don't believe you want me to stay. John. Don't you? Cynthia. 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! [She sobs and he takes her in his arms. John. [Very tenderly.] Cyn! I love you! [Strongly.] And you've got to stay! And hereafter you can chuck chairs around till all's blue! Not a word now. [He draws her gently to a chair. Cynthia. [Wiping her tears.] Oh, Jack! Jack! John. I'm as hungry as a shark. We'll nibble together. Cynthia. Well, all I can say is, I feel that of all the improprieties I ever committed this—this— John. This takes the claret, eh? Oh, Lord, how happy I am! Cynthia. Now don't say that! You'll make me cry more. She wipes her eyes. John takes out the wedding ring from his pocket; he lifts a wine-glass, drops the ring into it and offers her the glass. John. Cynthia! Cynthia. [Looking at it and wiping her eyes.] What is it? John. Benedictine! Cynthia. Why, you know I never take it. John. Take this one for my sake. Cynthia. That's not benedictine. [With gentle curiosity.] What is it? John. [Slides the ring out of the glass and puts his arm about Cynthia. He slips the ring on to her finger and, as he kisses her hand, says:] Your wedding ring! Curtain. Transcriber's NotesPage 614: Phillmore changed to Phillimore. |
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