SCENE. _The same as that of Act I, but the room has been
cleared of superfluous furniture, and arranged for a wedding
ceremony._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _is reclining on the sofa at the
right of the table,_ MISS HENEAGE _at its left._ SUDLEY _is
seated at the right of the table._ GRACE _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, 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._
_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._
SUDLEY. [_Impatiently._] All very well, my dear Sarah. But you see the
hour. Twenty to ten! We have been here since half-past two.
MISS HENEAGE. You had dinner?
SUDLEY. 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--
MISS HENEAGE. [_With forced composure._] 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.
GRACE. Where is Philip?
MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Feebly, irritated._] 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-- [MRS. PHILLIMORE _reclines again and fades away
into silence._
GRACE. [_Sharply and decisively._] I do! I'm sorry I went to the
expense of a silver ice-pitcher.
MRS. PHILLIMORE _sighs._ MISS HENEAGE _keeps her temper with
an effort which is obvious._ THOMAS _opens the door._
SUDLEY. [_To_ MRS. PHILLIMORE.] For my part, I don't believe Mrs.
Karslake means to return here or to marry Philip at all!
THOMAS. [_Coming in, and approaching_ MISS HENEAGE.] Two telegrams for
you, ma'am! The choir boys have had their supper. [_A slight movement
ripples the ominous calm of all._ THOMAS _steps back._
SUDLEY. [_Rising._] At last we shall know!
MISS HENEAGE. From the lady! Probably!
MISS HENEAGE _opens the first telegram and reads it at a
glance, laying it on the salver again with a look at_ SUDLEY.
THOMAS _passes the salver to_ SUDLEY, _who takes the
telegram._
GRACE. There's a toot now.
MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Feebly, confused._] I don't wish to intrude, but
really I cannot imagine Philip marrying at midnight. [_As_ SUDLEY
_reads_, MISS HENEAGE _opens the second telegram, but does not read
it._
SUDLEY. [_Reading._] "Accident, auto struck"--something!
"Gasoline"--did something--illegible, ah! [_Reads._] "Home by nine
forty-five! Hold the church!"
[_A general movement sets in._
MISS HENEAGE. [_Profoundly shocked._] "Hold the church!" William, she
still means to marry Philip! and to-night, too!
SUDLEY. It's from Belmont Park.
GRACE. [_Making a great discovery._] She went to the races!
MISS HENEAGE. This is from Philip! [_Reading the second telegram._] "I
arrive at ten o'clock. Have dinner ready." [MISS HENEAGE _motions to_
Thomas, _who, obeying, retires. Looking at her watch._] They are both
due now. [_Movement._] What's to be done? [_She rises and_ SUDLEY
_shrugs his shoulders._
SUDLEY. [_Rising._] 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.
MISS HENEAGE. I'll telephone Matthew. The choir boys can go home--her
maid can pack her belongings--and when the lady arrives--
_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._
GRACE _flies to the door and looks out._ MRS. PHILLIMORE,
_helpless, does not know what to do or where to go or what to
say._ SUDLEY _moves about excitedly._ MISS HENEAGE _stands
ready to make herself disagreeable._
GRACE. [_Speaking rapidly and with excitement._] I hear a man's voice.
Cates-Darby and brother Matthew.
_A loud and brazenly insistent toot outrages afresh. Laughter
and voices outside are heard faintly._ GRACE _looks out of
the door, and, as quickly withdraws._
MISS HENEAGE. Outrageous!
SUDLEY. Disgraceful!
MRS. PHILLIMORE. Shocking! [_Partly rising as the voices and horn are
heard._] I shall not take any part at all, in the--eh--
[_She fades away._
MISS HENEAGE. [_Interrupting her._] Don't trouble yourself.
_Through the growing noise of voices and laughter,_ CYNTHIA'S
_voice is heard._ SIR WILFRID _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_
CYNTHIA, _who is still outside._ CYNTHIA'S _voice, and now_
MATTHEW'S, _reach those inside, and, at last, both join_ SIR
WILFRID, _who has turned at the door to wait for them. As she
reaches the door_, CYNTHIA _turns and speaks to_ MATTHEW,
_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_ CYNTHIA, SUDLEY _and_ MISS HENEAGE
_exclaim, and there is a general movement._
SUDLEY. 'Pon my word!
GRACE. Hah!
MISS HENEAGE. [_Bristling up to her feet, her sensibilities
outraged._] Shocking!
GRACE _remains standing above sofa._ SUDLEY _moves toward
her_, MISS HENEAGE _sitting down again._ MRS. PHILLIMORE
_reclines on sofa._ CYNTHIA _begins to speak as soon as she
appears and speaks fluently to the end._
CYNTHIA. 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!
[_There are movements and murmurs of disapprobation from the family._
MATTHEW _indicates a desire to go._] Oh, but you can't go!
MATTHEW. I'll return in no time!
CYNTHIA. I'm all ready to be married. Are they ready? [MATTHEW _waves
a pious, polite gesture of recognition to the family._] I beg
everybody's pardon! [_Taking off her wrap and putting it on the back
of a chair._] My goggles are so dusty, I can't see who's who! [_To_
SIR WILFRID.] Thanks! You _have_ carried it well! [_She takes the
parasol from_ SIR WILFRID.
SIR WILFRID. [_Aside to_ CYNTHIA.] When may I--?
CYNTHIA. See you next Goodwood!
SIR WILFRID. [_Imperturbably._] Oh, I'm coming back!
CYNTHIA. [_Advancing a bit toward the family._] Not a bit of use in
coming back! I shall be married before you get here! Ta! Ta! Goodwood!
SIR WILFRID. [_Not in the least affected._] I'm coming back. [_He goes
out quickly. There are more murmurs of disapprobation from the family.
There is a slight pause._
CYNTHIA. [_Beginning to take off her goggles, and moving nearer "the
family."_] I do awfully apologize for being so late!
MISS HENEAGE. [_Importantly._] Mrs. Karslake--
SUDLEY. [_Importantly._] Ahem! [CYNTHIA _lays down goggles, and sees
their severity._
CYNTHIA. Dear me! [_Surveying the flowers and for a moment
speechless._] Oh, good heavens! Why, it looks like a smart funeral!
MISS HENEAGE _moves; then speaks in a perfectly ordinary
natural tone, but her expression is severe._ CYNTHIA
_immediately realizes the state of affairs in its fullness._
MISS HENEAGE. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] After what has occurred, Mrs. Karslake--
CYNTHIA. [_Glances quietly toward the table, and then sits down at it,
composed and good-tempered._] I see you got my wire--so you know where
I have been.
MISS HENEAGE. To the race-course!
SUDLEY. With a rowdy Englishman. [CYNTHIA _glances at_ SUDLEY,
_uncertain whether he means to be disagreeable, or whether he is only
naturally so._
MISS HENEAGE. We concluded you desired to break the engagement!
CYNTHIA. [_Indifferently._] No! No! Oh! No!
MISS HENEAGE. Do you intend, despite of our opinion of you--
CYNTHIA. The only opinion that would have any weight with me would be
Mrs. Phillimore's.
[_She turns expectantly to_ MRS. PHILLIMORE.
MRS. PHILLIMORE. I am generally asleep at this hour, and, accordingly,
I will not venture to express any--eh--any--actual opinion. [_She
fades away._ CYNTHIA _smiles._
MISS HENEAGE. [_Coldly._] You smile. We simply inform you that as
regards _us_, the alliance is not grateful.
CYNTHIA. [_Affecting gaiety and unconcern._] And all this because the
gasoline gave out.
SUDLEY. My patience has given out!
GRACE. So has mine. I'm going.
[_She makes good her word._
SUDLEY. [_Vexed beyond civility. To_ CYNTHIA.] My dear young lady: You
come here, to this sacred--eh--eh--spot--altar!-- [_Gesture._]
odoriferous of the paddock!--speaking of Spiffles and Buckeye,--having
practically eloped!--having created a scandal, and disgraced our
family!
CYNTHIA. [_Affecting surprise at this attitude._] 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!
MISS HENEAGE. Sister, it is high time that you--
[_She turns to_ CYNTHIA _with a gesture._
CYNTHIA. [_With quiet irony._] Mrs. Phillimore is generally asleep at
this hour, and accordingly she will not venture to express--
SUDLEY. [_Spluttering with irritation._] Enough, madam--I _venture_
to--to--to--to say, you are leading a fast life.
CYNTHIA. [_With powerful intention._] 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!
SUDLEY. [_Despairingly._] This comes of horses!
CYNTHIA. [_Indignant._] Of what?
SUDLEY. C-c-caring for horses!
MISS HENEAGE. [_With sublime morality._] What Mrs. Karslake cares for
is--men.
CYNTHIA. [_Angry and gay._] What would you have me care for? The
Ornithorhyncus Paradoxus? or Pithacanthropus Erectus? Oh, I refuse to
take you seriously. [SUDLEY _begins to prepare to leave; he buttons
himself into respectability and his coat._
SUDLEY. My dear madam, I take myself seriously--and madam, I--I
retract what I have brought with me [_Feeling in his waistcoat
pocket._] as a graceful gift,--an Egyptian scarab--a--a--sacred
beetle, which once ornamented the person of a--eh--mummy.
CYNTHIA. [_Scoring in return._] It should never be absent from your
pocket, Mr. Sudley! [SUDLEY _walks away in a rage._
MISS HENEAGE. [_Rising, to_ SUDLEY.] I've a vast mind to withdraw my--
[CYNTHIA _moves._
CYNTHIA. [_Interrupts; maliciously._] Your wedding present? The little
bronze cat!
MISS HENEAGE. [_Moves, angrily._] Oh! [_Even_ MRS. PHILLIMORE _comes
momentarily to life, and expresses silent indignation._
SUDLEY. [_Loftily._] Sarah, I'm going.
GRACE, _who has met_ PHILIP, _takes occasion to accompany him
into the room._ PHILIP _looks dusty and grim. As they come
in_, GRACE _speaks to him, and_ PHILIP _shakes his head. They
pause near the door._
CYNTHIA. [_Emotionally._] I shall go to my room! However, all I ask is
that you repeat to Philip-- [_As she moves toward the door, she comes
suddenly upon_ PHILIP, _and speaks to him in a low voice._
SUDLEY. [_To_ MISS HENEAGE, _determined to win._] As I go out, I shall
do myself the pleasure of calling a hansom for Mrs. Karslake-- [PHILIP
_moves slightly from the door._
PHILIP. As you go out, Sudley, have a hansom called, and when it
comes, get into it.
SUDLEY. [_Furious._] Eh,--eh,--my dear sir, I leave you to your fate.
[PHILIP _angrily points him the door and_ SUDLEY _leaves in great
haste._
MISS HENEAGE. [_With weight._] Philip, you've not heard--
PHILIP. [_Interrupting._] Everything--from Grace! My sister has
repeated your words to me--and her own! I've told her what I think of
_her_. [PHILIP _looks witheringly at_ GRACE.
GRACE. I shan't wait to hear any more.
[_She flounces out of the room._
PHILIP. Don't make it necessary for me to tell you what I think of
you. [PHILIP _moves to the right, toward his mother, to whom he gives
his arm._ MISS HENEAGE _immediately seeks the opposite side._] 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. [_As_ PHILIP _and_ MRS. PHILLIMORE _are about to go out_,
MISS HENEAGE _speaks._
MISS HENEAGE. 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. [MISS HENEAGE,
_high and mighty, goes out, much pleased with her quotation._
MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Stupid and weary as usual, to_ PHILIP, _as he leads
her to the door._] My dear son--I won't venture to express-- [CYNTHIA,
_in irritation, moves to the table._
PHILIP. [_Soothing a silly mother._] No, mother, don't! But I shall
expect you, of course, at the ceremony. [MRS. PHILLIMORE _languidly
retires._ PHILIP _strides to the centre of the room, taking the tone,
and assuming the attitude of, the injured husband._] It is proper for
me to tell you that I followed you to Belmont. I am aware--I know with
whom--in fact, _I know all_! [_He punctuates his words with pauses,
and indicates the whole censorious universe._] 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. [CYNTHIA _is silent._]
You understand? I propose to marry you. I won't be made ridiculous.
CYNTHIA. [_Glancing at_ PHILIP.] Philip, I didn't mean to make you--
PHILIP. Why, then, did you run off to Belmont Park with that fellow?
CYNTHIA. Philip, I--eh--
PHILIP. [_Sitting down at the table._] What motive? What reason? On
our wedding day? Why did you do it?
CYNTHIA. I'll tell you the truth. I was bored.
PHILIP. [_Staggered._] Bored? In my company?
CYNTHIA. I was bored, and then--and besides, Sir Wilfrid asked me to
go.
PHILIP. 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.
CYNTHIA. I know, I know!
PHILIP. Do you believe that now?
CYNTHIA. 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 [_Indicating him._] and say: I
will be happy with him.
PHILIP. [_With complacent dignity._] 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.
CYNTHIA. [_Gravely._] No, there's a third scheme: Sir Wilfrid
explained the theory to me. A woman should marry whenever she has a
whim for the man, and then leave the rest to the man. Do you see?
PHILIP. [_Furious._] Do I see? Have I ever seen any thing else? Marry
for whim! That's the New York idea of marriage.
CYNTHIA. [_Observing cynically._] New York ought to know.
PHILIP. 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." [_He rises in his anger._] And now you--_you_ take up with
this preposterous-- [CYNTHIA _moves uneasily._] But, nonsense! It's
impossible! A woman of your mental calibre--No. Some obscure,
primitive, female _feeling_ is at work corrupting your better
judgment! What is it you _feel_?
CYNTHIA. Philip, you never felt like a fool, did you?
PHILIP. No, never.
CYNTHIA. [_Politely._] I thought not.
PHILIP. No, but whatever your feelings, I conclude you are ready to
marry me.
CYNTHIA. [_Uneasy._] Of course, I came back. I am here, am I not?
PHILIP. You are ready to marry me?
CYNTHIA. [_Twisting in the coils._] But you haven't had your dinner.
PHILIP. Do I understand you refuse?
CYNTHIA. Couldn't we defer--?
PHILIP. You refuse?
CYNTHIA. [_Desperately thinking of an escape from her promise, and
finding none._] No, I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my word. I
will.
PHILIP. [_Triumphant._] Ah! Very good, then. Run to your room.
[CYNTHIA _turns to_ PHILIP.] 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!
CYNTHIA. [_Hopelessly._] I think I'll go, Philip.
PHILIP. I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but--
CYNTHIA. [_Spiritlessly._] I think I'll go, Philip.
PHILIP. I'll expect you,--in half an hour.
CYNTHIA. [_With leaden despair._] Yes.
PHILIP. And, Cynthia, don't think any more about that fellow,
Cates-Darby.
CYNTHIA. [_Amazed and disgusted by his misapprehension._] No. [_As_
CYNTHIA _leaves_, THOMAS _comes in from the opposite door._
PHILIP. [_Not seeing_ THOMAS, _and clumsily defiant._] And if I had
that fellow, Cates-Darby, in the dock--!
THOMAS. Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby.
PHILIP. Sir what--what--wh-who? [SIR WILFRID _enters in evening
dress._ PHILIP _looks_ SIR WILFRID _in the face and speaks to_
THOMAS.] Tell Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby I am not at home to him. [THOMAS
_is embarrassed._
SIR WILFRID. [_Undaunted._] My dear Lord Eldon--
PHILIP. [_Again addressing_ THOMAS.] Show the gentleman the door.
[_There is a pause._ SIR WILFRID, _with a significant gesture, glances
at the door._
SIR WILFRID. [_Moving to the door, he examines it and returns to_
PHILIP.] 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.
[THOMAS _does not wait for further orders._
PHILIP. Sir, you are--impudent--!
SIR WILFRID. [_Interrupting._] Ah, you put it all in a nutshell, don't
you?
PHILIP. To show your face here, after practically eloping with my
wife!
SIR WILFRID. [_Affecting ignorance._] When were you married?
PHILIP. We are as good as married.
SIR WILFRID. Oh, pooh, pooh! You can't tell me that grace before soup
is as good as a dinner! [_He takes out his cigar-case and, in the
absence of a match, enjoys a smokeless smoke._
PHILIP. Sir--I--demand--
SIR WILFRID. [_Calmly carrying the situation._] Mrs. Karslake is _not_
married. _That's_ why I'm here. I am here for the same purpose _you_
are; to ask Mrs. Karslake to be my wife.
PHILIP. Are you in your senses?
SIR WILFRID. [_Pricking his American cousin's pet vanity._] Come,
come, Judge--you Americans have no sense of humour. [_Taking a small
jewel-case from his pocket._] There's my regards for the lady--and
[_Reasonably._], if I must go, I will. Of course, I would like to see
her, but--if it isn't your American custom--
THOMAS. [_Opens the door and announces._] Mr. Karslake.
SIR WILFRID. Oh, well, I say; if he can come, I can!
JOHN KARSLAKE, _in evening dress, comes in quickly, carrying
a large and very smart bride's bouquet, which he hands to_
PHILIP, _who stands transfixed. Because it never occurs to
him to refuse it or chuck it away_, PHILIP _accepts the
bouquet gingerly, but frees himself of it at the first
available moment._ JOHN _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._
JOHN. My compliments to the bride, Judge.
PHILIP. [_Angry._] And you, too, have the effrontery?
SIR WILFRID. There you are!
JOHN. [_Pretending ease._] Oh, call it friendship--
[THOMAS _leaves._
PHILIP. [_Puts bouquet on table. Ironically._] I suppose Mrs.
Karslake--
JOHN. She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and of course--
_Throughout his stay_ JOHN _hides the emotions he will not
show behind a daring irony. Under its effects_, PHILIP, _on
his right, walks about in a fury._ SIR WILFRID, _sitting down
on the edge of the table, is gay and undisturbed._
PHILIP. [_Taking a step toward_ JOHN.] You will oblige me--both of
you--by immediately leaving--
JOHN. [_Smiling and going to_ PHILIP.] Oh, come, come, Judge--suppose
I _am_ here? Who has a better right to attend his wife's obsequies!
Certainly, I come as a mourner--for _you_!
SIR WILFRID. I say, is it the custom?
JOHN. 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?
PHILIP. Sir, your humour is strained!
JOHN. Humour,--Judge?
PHILIP. 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.
JOHN. 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?
SIR WILFRID. Hear! Hear! Oh, I beg your pardon!
JOHN. 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 _is_ 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!
PHILIP. [_Brought to a standstill._] Good Lord! Sir, you cannot trifle
with monogamy!
JOHN. 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.
PHILIP. Sir, this is polyandry.
JOHN. 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. [_He indicates himself, and then_ SIR WILFRID
_and_ PHILIP.] 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!
PHILIP. All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains--
JOHN. [_Going to_ PHILIP _who at once moves away._] 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!"
SIR WILFRID. Of course you do, and--there you are!
PHILIP. [_Heavily._] There I am not, sir! And-- [_To_ JOHN.] as for Mr.
Karslake's ill-timed jocosity,--sir, in the future--
SIR WILFRID. Oh, hang the future!
PHILIP. I begin to hope, Sir Wilfrid, that in the future I shall have
the pleasure of hanging you! [_To_ JOHN.] And as to you, sir, your
insensate idea of giving away your own--your former--my--your--oh!
Good Lord! This is a nightmare! [_He turns to go in despair._ MATTHEW,
_coming in, meets him, and stops him at the door._
MATTHEW. [_To_ PHILIP.] My dear brother, Aunt Sarah Heneage refuses to
give Mrs. Karslake away, unless you yourself,--eh--
PHILIP. [_As he goes out._] No more! I'll attend to the matter! [_The_
CHOIR BOYS _are heard practising in the next room._
MATTHEW. [_Mopping his brow._] How do you both do? My aunt has made me
very warm. [_Ringing the bell._] 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-- [THOMAS _responds to his ring._] Thomas! I left, in the hall,
a small hand-bag or satchel containing my surplice.
THOMAS. Yes, sir. Ahem!
MATTHEW. You must really find the hand-bag at once.
[THOMAS _turns to go, when he stops startled._
THOMAS. Yes, sir. [_Announcing in consternation._] Mrs. Vida
Phillimore. [VIDA PHILLIMORE, _in full evening dress, steps gently up
to_ MATTHEW.
MATTHEW. [_Always piously serene._] Ah, my dear child! Now this is
just as it should be! That is, eh-- [_He walks to the centre of the
room with her_, VIDA, _the while, pointedly disregarding_ SIR
WILFRID.] That is, when I come to think of it--your presence might be
deemed inauspicious.
VIDA. But, my dear Matthew,--I had to come. [_Aside to him._] I have a
reason for being here.
[THOMAS, _who has left the room, again appears._
MATTHEW. [_With a helpless gesture._] But, my dear child--
THOMAS. [_With sympathetic intention._] Sir, Mr. Phillimore wishes to
have your assistance, sir--with Miss Heneage _immediately_!
MATTHEW. Ah! [_To_ VIDA.] One moment! I'll return. [_To_ THOMAS.] Have
you found the bag with my surplice?
_He goes out with_ THOMAS, _speaking._ SIR WILFRID _moves at
once to_ VIDA. JOHN, _moving to a better position, watches
the door._
SIR WILFRID. [_To_ VIDA.] You're just the person I most want to see!
VIDA. [_With affected iciness._] Oh, no, Sir Wilfrid, Cynthia isn't
here yet! [_She moves to the table, and_ JOHN, _his eyes on the door,
coming toward her, she speaks to him with obvious sweetness._] Jack,
dear, I never was so ravished to see any one.
SIR WILFRID. [_Taken aback._] By Jove!
VIDA. [_Very sweet._] I knew I should find you here!
JOHN. [_Annoyed but civil._] Now don't do that!
VIDA. [_Sweeter than ever._] Jack! [_They sit down._
JOHN. [_Civil but plain spoken._] Don't do it!
VIDA. [_In a voice dripping with honey._] Do what, Jack?
JOHN. Touch me with your voice! I have troubles enough of my own. [_He
sits not far from her; the table between them._
VIDA. And I know who your troubles are! Cynthia!
[_From this moment_ VIDA _abandons_ JOHN _as an object of the
chase and works him into her other game._
JOHN. I hate her. I don't know why I came.
VIDA. You came, dear, because you couldn't stay away--you're in love
with her.
JOHN. All right, Vida, what I feel may be _love_--but all I can say
is, if I could get even with Cynthia Karslake--
VIDA. You can, dear--it's as easy as powdering one's face; all you
have to do is to be too nice to me!
JOHN. [_Looking at her inquiringly._] Eh!
VIDA. 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--
JOHN. If I can make her wince, I'll make love to you till the Heavenly
cows come home!
VIDA. Well, you see, my dear, if you make love to me it will
[_Delicately indicating_ SIR WILFRID.] cut both ways at once!
JOHN. Eh,--what! Not Cates-Darby? [_Starting._] Is that Cynthia?
VIDA. Now don't get rattled and forget to make love to me.
JOHN. I've got the jumps. [_Trying to follow her instructions._] Vida,
I adore you.
VIDA. Oh, you must be more convincing; that won't do at all.
JOHN. [_Listening._] Is that she now?
[MATTHEW _comes in and passes to the inner room._
VIDA. 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?
JOHN. 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. [_The organ
is heard, very softly played._] Is that Cynthia? [_He rises quickly._
VIDA. It's the organ!
JOHN. [_Overwhelmingly excited._] By George! I should never have come!
I think I'll go.
[_He makes a movement toward the door._
VIDA. [_Rises and follows him remonstratingly._] When I need you?
JOHN. I can't stand it.
VIDA. Oh, but, Jack--
JOHN. Good-night!
VIDA. I feel quite ill. [_Seeing that she must play her last card to
keep him, pretends to faintness; sways and falls into his arms._] Oh!
JOHN. [_In a rage, but beaten._] I believe you're putting up a fake.
_The organ swells as_ CYNTHIA _enters sweepingly, dressed in
full evening dress for the wedding ceremony._ JOHN, _not
knowing what to do, keeps his arms about_ VIDA _as a horrid
necessity._
CYNTHIA. [_Speaking as she comes in, to_ MATTHEW.] 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? [_She looks for_ PHILIP _and sees_ JOHN _with_
VIDA _in his arms. She stops short._
JOHN. [_Uneasy and embarrassed._] A glass of water! I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Karslake-- [_The organ plays on._
CYNTHIA. [_Ironical and calm._] Vida!
JOHN. She has fainted.
CYNTHIA. [_Cynically._] Fainted? [_Without pausing._] Dear, dear,
dear, terrible! So she has. [SIR WILFRID _takes the flowers from a
vase and prepares to sprinkle_ VIDA'S _forehead with the water it
contains._] No, no, not her forehead, Sir Wilfrid, her frock! Sprinkle
her best Paquin! If it's a real faint, she will not come to!
VIDA. [_Coming quickly to her senses as her Paris importation is about
to suffer._] I almost fainted.
CYNTHIA. Almost!
VIDA. [_Using the stock phrase as a matter of course, and reviving
rapidly._] Where am I? [JOHN _glances at_ CYNTHIA _sharply._] Oh, the
bride! I beg every one's pardon. Cynthia, at a crisis like this, I
simply couldn't stay away from Philip!
CYNTHIA. Stay away from Philip? [JOHN _and_ CYNTHIA _exchange
glances._
VIDA. Your arm, Jack; and lead me where there is air.
JOHN _and_ VIDA _go into the further room. The organ stops._
SIR WILFRID _and_ CYNTHIA _are practically alone in the
room._ JOHN _and_ VIDA _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._
SIR WILFRID. I've come back.
CYNTHIA. [_To_ SIR WILFRID.] Asks for air and goes to the greenhouse.
[CYNTHIA _crosses the room and_ SIR WILFRID _offers her a seat._] 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--
SIR WILFRID. Mr. Phillimore?
CYNTHIA. [_Sharply._] No, Karslake. I'm just waiting to say the words
[THOMAS _comes in unnoticed._] "love, honour and obey" to
Phillimore-- [_Looking back._] and _at_ Karslake! [_Seeing_ THOMAS.]
What is it? Mr. Phillimore?
THOMAS. Mr. Phillimore will be down in a few minutes, ma'am. He's very
sorry, ma'am [_Lowering his voice and coming nearer to_ CYNTHIA,
_mindful of the respectabilities_], but there's a button off his
waistcoat.
CYNTHIA. [_Rising. With irony._] Button off his waistcoat!
[THOMAS _goes out._
SIR WILFRID. [_Delightedly._] Ah! So much the better for me. [CYNTHIA
_looks into the other room._] Now, then, never mind those two!
[CYNTHIA _moves restlessly._] Sit down.
CYNTHIA. I can't.
SIR WILFRID. You're as nervous as--
CYNTHIA. Nervous! Of course I'm nervous! So would you be nervous if
you'd had a runaway and smash up, and you were going to try it again.
[_She is unable to take her eyes from_ VIDA _and_ JOHN, _and_ SIR
WILFRID, _noting this, grows uneasy._] And if some one doesn't do away
with those calla lilies--the odor makes me faint! [SIR WILFRID
_moves._] No, it's not the lilies! It's the orange blossoms!
SIR WILFRID. Orange blossoms.
CYNTHIA. The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the abyss!
[SIR WILFRID _promptly confiscates the vase of orange blossoms._] 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.
SIR WILFRID. [_Returning to her side._] Sorry to disappoint you.
They're artificial. [CYNTHIA _shrugs her shoulders._] That's it!
They're emblematic of artificial domesticity! And I'm here to help you
balk it. [_He sits down and_ CYNTHIA _half rises and looks toward_
JOHN _and_ VIDA.] Keep still now, I've a lot to say to you. Stop
looking--
CYNTHIA. 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!
SIR WILFRID. [_Leaning over her chair._] What do you want to look at
'em for? [CYNTHIA _moves._] Let 'em be and listen to me! Sit down; for
damme, I'm determined.
CYNTHIA. [_Now at the table and half to herself._] I won't look at
them! I won't think of them. Beasts! [SIR WILFRID _interposes between
her and her view of_ JOHN. THOMAS _opens the door and walks in._
SIR WILFRID. Now, then-- [_He sits down._
CYNTHIA. Those two _here_! It's just as if Adam and Eve should invite
the snake to their golden wedding. [_Seeing_ THOMAS.] What is it,
what's the matter?
THOMAS. Mr. Phillimore's excuses, ma'am. In a very short time--
[THOMAS _goes out._
SIR WILFRID. I'm on to you! You hoped for more buttons!
CYNTHIA. I'm dying of the heat; fan me.
[SIR WILFRID _fans_ CYNTHIA.
SIR WILFRID. Heat! No! You're dying because you're ignorin' nature.
Certainly you are! You're marryin' Phillimore! [CYNTHIA _appears
faint._] Can't ignore nature, Mrs. Karslake. Yes, you are; you're
forcin' your feelin's. [CYNTHIA _glances at him._] 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! [CYNTHIA _moves and shakes her head._] So
just throw the reins on nature's neck, jump this fellow Phillimore and
marry me!
[_He leans toward_ CYNTHIA.
CYNTHIA. [_Naturally, but with irritation._] 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! [_Looking toward_ KARSLAKE _and_ VIDA.] And
I won't have you stand near me! I won't have you talking to me in a
low tone! [_Her eyes glued on_ JOHN _and_ VIDA.] Stand over
there--stand where you are.
SIR WILFRID. I say--
CYNTHIA. I can hear you--I'm listening!
SIR WILFRID. 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--
CYNTHIA. Marry you? I don't even know you!
SIR WILFRID. [_Feeling sure of being accepted._] 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. [CYNTHIA _looks beyond him, exclaims
and turns._ SIR WILFRID _turns._
CYNTHIA. Do they?
SIR WILFRID. 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.
CYNTHIA. [_Thinking of_ JOHN _and_ VIDA _and nothing else._] I can see
Vida in the nursery.
SIR WILFRID. You understand when you want a brood mare, you don't
choose a Kentucky mule.
CYNTHIA. I think I see one.
SIR WILFRID. Well, that's what they're saying over there. They say
your gals run to talk [_He plainly remembers_ VIDA'S _volubility._]
and I have seen gals here that would chat life into a 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.
CYNTHIA. So that's what you think?
SIR WILFRID. Not a bit what _I_ think--what my countrymen think!
CYNTHIA. Why are you telling me?
SIR WILFRID. Oh, just explaining my character. I'm the sort that can
pick and choose--and what I want is heart.
CYNTHIA. [VIDA _and_ JOHN _ever in mind._] No more heart than a
dragon-fly! [_The organ begins to play softly._
SIR WILFRID. 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!
CYNTHIA. I am listening. I am!
SIR WILFRID. [_Speaking directly to her._] An Englishman, ye see, when
he marries expects three things: love, obedience, and five children.
CYNTHIA. Three things! I make it seven!
SIR WILFRID. Yes, my dear, but the point is, will you be mistress of
Traynham?
CYNTHIA. [_Who has only half listened to him._] No, Sir Wilfrid, thank
you, I won't. [_She turns to see_ JOHN _walk across the drawing-room
with_ VIDA, _and apparently absorbed in what she is saying._] It's
outrageous!
SIR WILFRID. Eh? Why you're cryin'?
CYNTHIA. [_Almost sobbing._] I am not.
SIR WILFRID. You're not crying because you're in love with me?
CYNTHIA. 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.
[JOHN, _with intention and determined to stab_ CYNTHIA, _kisses_
VIDA'S _hand._
SIR WILFRID. Eh! Oh! I'm damned! [_To_ CYNTHIA.] What do you think
that means?
CYNTHIA. I don't doubt it means a wedding here, at once--after mine!
[VIDA _and_ JOHN _leave the drawing-room and walk slowly toward
them._
VIDA. [_Affecting an impossible intimacy to wound_ CYNTHIA _and
tantalize_ SIR WILFRID.] Hush, Jack--I'd much rather no one should
know anything about it until it's all over!
CYNTHIA. [_Starting and looking at_ SIR WILFRID.] What did I tell you?
VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Oh, my dear, he's asked me to champagne and
lobster at _your_ house--his house! Matthew is coming! [CYNTHIA
_starts, but controls herself._] And you're to come, Sir Wilfrid.
[_Intending to convey the idea of a sudden marriage ceremony._] 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. [_The organ stops._
SIR WILFRID. [_Piqued at being forgotten._] All very neat, but you
haven't given me a chance, even.
VIDA. Chance? You're not serious?
SIR WILFRID. I am!
VIDA. [_Striking while the iron is hot._] I'll give you a minute to
offer yourself.
SIR WILFRID. Eh?
VIDA. Sixty seconds from now.
SIR WILFRID. [_Uncertain._] There's such a thing as bein' silly.
VIDA. [_Calm and determined._] Fifty seconds left.
SIR WILFRID. I take you--count fair. [_He hands her his watch and goes
to where_ CYNTHIA _stands._] I say, Mrs. Karslake--
CYNTHIA. [_Overwhelmed with grief and emotion._] They're engaged;
they're going to be married to-night, over champagne and lobster at my
house!
SIR WILFRID. Will you consider your--
CYNTHIA. [_Hastily, to get rid of him._] No, no, no, no! Thank you,
Sir Wilfrid, I will not.
SIR WILFRID. [_Calm, and not to be laid low._] Thanks awfully.
[CYNTHIA _walks away. Returning to_ VIDA.] Mrs. Phillimore--
VIDA. [_Returning his watch._] Too late! [_To_ KARSLAKE.] Jack, dear,
we must be off.
SIR WILFRID. [_Standing and making a general appeal for information._]
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. [_To_ VIDA.] By Jove, you know in your country it's the pace
that kills.
[SIR WILFRID _follows_ VIDA _out the door._
JOHN. [_Gravely to_ CYNTHIA, _who has walked away._] Good-night, Mrs.
Karslake, I'm going; I'm sorry I came.
CYNTHIA. Sorry? Why are you sorry? [JOHN _looks at her; she winces a
little._] You've got what you wanted. [_After a pause._] I wouldn't
mind your marrying Vida--
JOHN. [_Gravely._] Oh, wouldn't you?
CYNTHIA. But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging
yourselves _here_.
JOHN. Of course, I should have preferred a garden of roses and plenty
of twilight.
CYNTHIA. [_Rushing into speech._] I'll tell you what you _have_
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!
JOHN. I have known others--
CYNTHIA. [_Quickly._] 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.
JOHN. [_Banteringly._] I begin to think she is just the woman--
CYNTHIA. [_Unable to quiet her jealousy._] She is _not_ the woman for
_you_! 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!
[CYNTHIA _comes to a full stop and faces him._
JOHN. [_Sharply._] Can't say I've had any experience of the good
old-fashioned bread-poultice.
CYNTHIA. I don't care what you say! If you marry Vida Phillimore--you
sha'n't do it. [_Tears of rage choking her._] No, I liked your father
and, for _his_ sake, I'll see that his son doesn't make a donkey of
himself a second time.
JOHN. [_Too angry to be amused._] Oh, I thought I was divorced. I
begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still.
CYNTHIA. You have! You shall have! If you attempt to marry her, I'll
follow you--and I'll find her--I'll tell Vida-- [_He turns to her._] I
will. I'll tell Vida just what sort of a dance you led me.
JOHN. [_Quickly on her last word but speaking gravely._] Indeed! Will
you? And why do you care what happens to me?
CYNTHIA. [_Startled by his tone._] I--I--ah--
JOHN. [_Insistently and with a faint hope._] _Why_ do you _care_?
CYNTHIA. I don't. Not in your sense--
JOHN. How dare you then pretend--
CYNTHIA. I don't pretend.
JOHN. [_Interrupting her; proud, serious and strong._] How dare you
look me in the face with the eyes that I once kissed, and pretend the
least regard for me? [CYNTHIA _recoils and looks away. Her own
feelings are revealed to her clearly for the first time._] 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 _are_ nothing!
CYNTHIA. [_Wounded to the heart._] Jack! What are you saying?
JOHN. [_With unrestrained emotion._] What,--you feigning an interest
in me, feigning a lie--and in five minutes-- [_With a gesture,
indicating the altar._] Oh, you've taught me the trick of your
sex--you're the woman who's not a woman!
CYNTHIA. [_Weakly._] You're saying terrible things to me.
JOHN. [_Low and with intensity._] You haven't been divorced from me
long enough to forget--what you should be ashamed to remember.
CYNTHIA. [_Unable to face him and pretending not to understand him._]
I don't know what you mean?
JOHN. [_More forcibly and with manly emotion._] 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-- [_The organ is plainly heard._] Well, then, prance gaily
up to the altar and marry that, if you can!
_He abruptly quits the room and_ CYNTHIA, _moving to an
armchair, sinks into it, trembling._ MATTHEW _comes in and is
joined by_ MISS HENEAGE _and_ PHILIP. _They do not see_
CYNTHIA _buried deeply in her chair. Accordingly_, MISS
HENEAGE _moves over to the sofa and waits. They are all
dressed for an evening reception and_ PHILIP _is in the
traditional bridegroom's rig._
MATTHEW. [_As he enters._] I am sure you will do your part, Sarah--in
a spirit of Christian decorum. [_To_ PHILIP.] It was impossible to
find my surplice, Philip, but the more informal the better.
PHILIP. [_With pompous responsibility._] Where's Cynthia?
[MATTHEW _gives a glance around the room._
MATTHEW. Ah, here's the choir! [_He moves forward to meet it._ CHOIR
BOYS _come in very orderly; divide and take their places, an even
number on each side of the altar of flowers._ MATTHEW _vaguely
superintends._ PHILIP _gets in the way of the bell and moves out of
the way._ THOMAS _comes in._] Thomas, I directed you--One moment, if
you please. [_He indicates the tables and chairs which_ THOMAS
_hastens to push against the wall._
PHILIP. [_Walking forward and looking around him._] Where's Cynthia?
[CYNTHIA _rises, and, at the movement_, PHILIP _sees her and moves
toward her. The organ grows suddenly silent._
CYNTHIA. [_Faintly._] Here I am.
[MATTHEW _comes down. Organ plays softly._
MATTHEW. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Ah, my very dear Cynthia, I knew there was
something. Let me tell you the words of the hymn I have chosen:
"Enduring love; sweet end of strife!
Oh, bless this happy man and wife!"
I'm afraid you feel--eh--eh!
CYNTHIA. [_Desperately calm._] I feel awfully queer--I think I need a
scotch.
_Organ stops._ PHILIP _remains uneasily at a little
distance._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ GRACE _enter back slowly, as
cheerfully as if they were going to hear the funeral service
read. They remain near the doorway._
MATTHEW. Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity--I mean--ceremony of
this--this unique occasion, there should be sufficient exhilaration.
CYNTHIA. [_With extraordinary control._] But there isn't!
[_Feeling weak, she sits down._
MATTHEW. I don't think my Bishop would approve of--eh--anything
_before_!
CYNTHIA. [_Too agitated to know how much she is moved._] I feel very
queer.
MATTHEW. [_Piously sure that everything is for the best._] My dear
child--
CYNTHIA. However, I suppose there's nothing for it--now--but--to--to--
MATTHEW. Courage!
CYNTHIA. [_Desperate and with a sudden explosion._] 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!
MATTHEW. My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. [CYNTHIA
_speaks more rapidly and with growing excitement._ MATTHEW _makes a
movement toward the_ CHOIR BOYS.
CYNTHIA. Ah,--that's it--nature! [MATTHEW _shakes his head._] I've a
great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck.
PHILIP. Matthew! [_He moves to take his stand for the ceremony._
MATTHEW. [_Looks at_ PHILIP. _To_ CYNTHIA.] Philip is ready. [PHILIP
_comes forward and the organ plays the wedding march._
CYNTHIA. [_To herself, as if at bay._] Ready? Ready? Ready?
MATTHEW. Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm. [MISS HENEAGE
_moves stiffly nearer to the table._] Sarah! [_He waves_ MISS HENEAGE
_in the direction of_ CYNTHIA, _at which she advances a joyless step
or two._ MATTHEW _goes over to give the choir a low direction._] Now
please don't forget, my boys. When I raise my hands so, you begin,
"Enduring love, sweet end of strife," etc. [CYNTHIA _has risen. On the
table by which she stands is her long lace cloak._ MATTHEW _assumes
sacerdotal importance and takes his position inside the altar of
flowers._] Ahem! Philip! [_He signs to_ PHILIP _to take his
position._] Sarah! [CYNTHIA _breathes fast, and supports herself
against the table._ MISS HENEAGE, _with the silent air of a martyr,
goes toward her and stands for a moment looking at her._] The ceremony
will now begin.
_The organ plays Mendelssohn's wedding march._ CYNTHIA _turns
and faces_ MISS HENEAGE. MISS HENEAGE _slowly reaches_
CYNTHIA _and extends her hand in her readiness to lead the
bride to the altar._
MISS HENEAGE. Mrs. Karslake!
PHILIP. Ahem! [MATTHEW _walks forward two or three steps._ CYNTHIA
_stands as if turned to stone._
MATTHEW. My dear Cynthia. I request you--to take your place. [CYNTHIA
_moves one or two steps as if to go up to the altar. She takes_ MISS
HENEAGE'S _hand and slowly they walk toward_ MATTHEW.] 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.
[_The organ grows louder._
CYNTHIA. [_At this moment, just as she reaches_ PHILIP, _stops, faces
round, looks him_, MATTHEW, _and the rest in the face, and cries out
in despair._] Thomas! Call a hansom! [THOMAS _goes out, leaving the
door open._ MISS HENEAGE _crosses the room quickly_; MRS. PHILLIMORE,
_shocked into action, rises._ CYNTHIA _catches up her cloak from the
table._ PHILIP _turns and_ CYNTHIA _comes forward and stops._] I
can't, Philip--I can't. [_Whistle of hansom is heard off; the organ
stops._] It is simply a case of throwing the reins on nature's
neck--up anchor--and sit tight! [MATTHEW _moves to_ CYNTHIA.] Matthew,
don't come near me! Yes, yes, I distrust you. It's your business, and
you'd marry me if you could.
PHILIP. [_Watching her in dismay as she throws on her cloak._] Where
are you going?
CYNTHIA. I'm going to Jack.
PHILIP. What for?
CYNTHIA. 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. [CYNTHIA _has now
all her wraps on and walks toward the door rapidly. To_ PHILIP.]
Sorry! So long! Good-night and see you later.
_Reaching the door, she goes out in blind haste and without
further ceremony._ MATTHEW, _in absolute amazement, throws up
his arms._ PHILIP _is rigid._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _sinks into a
chair._ MISS HENEAGE _stands supercilious and unmoved._
GRACE, _the same. The choir, at MATTHEW'S gesture, mistakes
it for the concerted signal, and bursts lustily into the
Epithalamis:_
"Enduring love--sweet end of strife!
Oh, bless this happy man and wife!"
CURTAIN.