ACT I.

SCENE. _Living-room in the house of_ PHILIP PHILLIMORE. _Five_ P. M. _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._

_Seated in the room are_ MISS HENEAGE, MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ THOMAS. MISS HENEAGE _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._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _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._ THOMAS _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._

MISS HENEAGE _is seated at the tea-table, facing the footlights._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _is seated at the table on the right._ THOMAS _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._ MISS HENEAGE _and_ MRS. PHILLIMORE _both have cups of tea._ MISS HENEAGE _sits up very straight, and pours tea for_ GRACE, _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._

GRACE. [_As she moves to the sofa._] I never in my life walked so far and found so few people at home. [_Pauses. Takes off gloves. Somewhat querulously._] The fact is the nineteenth of May is ridiculously late to be in town.

MISS HENEAGE. Thomas, Mr. Phillimore's sherry?

THOMAS. [_Indicating the particular table._] The sherry, ma'am.

MISS HENEAGE. Mr. Phillimore's _Post_?

THOMAS. [_Pointing to "The Evening Post" on the tea-table._] The _Post_, ma'am.

MISS HENEAGE. [_Indicating cup._] Miss Phillimore.

THOMAS _takes cup of tea to_ GRACE. _Silence. They all sip tea._ THOMAS _goes back, fills sherry glass, remaining round and about the tea-table. They all drink tea during their entire conversation._

GRACE. The Dudleys were at home. They wished to know when my brother Philip was to be married, and where and how?

MISS HENEAGE. If the Dudleys were persons of breeding, they'd not intrude their curiosity upon you.

GRACE. I like Lena Dudley.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Speaking slowly and gently._] Do I know Miss Dudley?

GRACE. She knows Philip. She expects an announcement of the wedding.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. 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.

GRACE. I told the Dudleys Philip's wedding was here, to-morrow.

MISS HENEAGE. [_To_ MRS. PHILLIMORE, _picking up a sheet of paper from the table._] 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. [_Taking the sheet of note-paper and giving it to_ THOMAS.] Of course the announcement Philip himself made was quite out of the question. [GRACE _smiles._] However, there is mine. [_She points to the paper._ THOMAS _gives the list to_ MRS. PHILLIMORE _and moves away._

GRACE. I hope you'll send an announcement to the Dudleys.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Prepared to make the best of things, plaintively reads._] "Mr. Philip Phillimore and Mrs. Cynthia Dean Karslake announce their marriage, May twentieth, at three o'clock, Nineteen A, Washington Square, New York." [_Replacing the paper on_ THOMAS'S _salver._] It sounds very nice.

[THOMAS _returns the paper to_ MISS HENEAGE.

MISS HENEAGE. 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. [THOMAS _goes out._] 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. [_Returning to her teacup._] The person I shall ask counsel of is cousin William Sudley. He promised to drop in this afternoon.

GRACE. Oh! We shall hear all about Cairo.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. William is judicious. [THOMAS _returns._

MISS HENEAGE. [_With finality._] Cousin William will disapprove of the match unless a winter in Cairo has altered his moral tone.

THOMAS. [_Announcing._] Mr. Sudley.

_He ushers in_ WILLIAM SUDLEY, _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._

MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ MISS HENEAGE. [_Rising and greeting_ SUDLEY; _a little tremulously._] My dear William!

[THOMAS _withdraws._

SUDLEY. [_Shakes hands with_ MRS. PHILLIMORE, _soberly glad to see them._] How d'ye do, Mary? [_Greeting_ MISS HENEAGE.] A very warm May you're having, Sarah.

GRACE. [_Coming forward to welcome him._] Dear Cousin William!

MISS HENEAGE. Wasn't it warm in Cairo when you left?

_She will have the strict truth, or nothing; still, on account of_ SUDLEY'S _impeccable respectability, she treats him with more than usual leniency._

SUDLEY. [_Sitting down._] We left Cairo six weeks ago, Grace, so I've had no news since you wrote in February that Philip was engaged. [_After a pause._] 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!

GRACE. Oh, but Philip has succeeded in keeping everything as quiet as possible.

SUDLEY. [_Acidly._] 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!

GRACE. [_With unfeigned interest._] Oh, what did she do?

SUDLEY. 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. [MISS HENEAGE _indicates the presence of_ GRACE _and rises._] 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!

[_Rising and moving to the table._

MISS HENEAGE. [_Irritated and disgusted._] Ah!

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_With dismay and pain._] Dear me!

MISS HENEAGE. [_Confident of the value of her opinion._] I disapprove of Mrs. Phillimore.

SUDLEY. [_Taking a cigarette._] Of course you do, but has Philip taken to Egyptian cigarettes in order to celebrate my winter at Cairo?

GRACE. Those are Cynthia's.

SUDLEY. [_Thinking that no one is worth knowing whom he does not know._] Who is "Cynthia?"

GRACE. Mrs. Karslake--She's staying here, Cousin William. She'll be down in a minute.

SUDLEY. [_Shocked._] You don't mean to tell me--?--!

MISS HENEAGE. 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.

SUDLEY. [_Suspicious and distrustful._] And may I ask _who_ Mrs. Karslake is?

MISS HENEAGE. [_With confidence._] She was a Deane.

SUDLEY. [_Walking about the room, sorry to be obliged to concede good birth to any but his own blood._] Oh, oh--well, the Deanes are extremely nice people. [_Approaching the table._] Was her father J. William Deane?

MISS HENEAGE. [_Nodding, still more secure._] Yes.

SUDLEY. [_Giving in with difficulty._] The family is an old one. J. William Deane's daughter? Surely he left a very considerable--

MISS HENEAGE. Oh, fifteen or twenty millions.

SUDLEY. [_Determined not to be dazzled._] If I remember rightly she was brought up abroad.

MISS HENEAGE. 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.

SUDLEY. [_Always ready to think the worst._] 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--

MISS HENEAGE. Not at all. Cynthia Karslake divorced her husband.

SUDLEY. [_Gloomily, since he has less fault to find than he expected._] She divorced him! Ah!

[_He seeks the consolation of his tea._

MISS HENEAGE. 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-- [_Glancing at_ GRACE] no hostages to Fortune! Ahem!

SUDLEY. [_Still unwilling to be pleased._] Ah! What sort of a young woman is she?

GRACE. [_With the superiority of one who is not too popular._] Men admire her.

MISS HENEAGE. She's not conventional.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Showing a faint sense of justice._] I am bound to say she has behaved discreetly ever since she arrived in this house.

MISS HENEAGE. Yes, Mary--but I sometimes suspect that she exercises a degree of self-control--

SUDLEY. [_Glad to have something against some one._] 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?

GRACE. [_Very superciliously._] He owns Cynthia K. She's the famous mare.

MISS HENEAGE. He's Henry Karslake's son.

SUDLEY. [_Beginning to make the best of fifteen millions-in-law._] Oh!--Henry!--Very respectable family. Although I remember his father served a term in the Senate. And so the wedding is to be to-morrow?

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Assenting._] To-morrow.

SUDLEY. [_Rising, his respectability to the front when he thinks of the ceremony._ GRACE _rises._] 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.

GRACE. [_Whispering to_ SUDLEY.] Cynthia's coming.

[_He doesn't hear._

CYNTHIA _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._

SUDLEY. [_Sententious and determinately epigrammatic._] 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--

GRACE. [_Aside to_ SUDLEY.] Cousin William!

SUDLEY. Eh, oh!

CYNTHIA. [_Reading her newspaper, advances into the room, immersed, excited, trembling. She lowers paper to catch the light._] "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!" [_Speaking with the enthusiasm of a sport._] 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?

[_Going over to_ SUDLEY.

SUDLEY. [_Bowing without cordiality._] Mrs. Karslake.

[CYNTHIA _pauses, feeling he should say something. As he says nothing, she speaks again._

CYNTHIA. I hope Cairo was delightful? Did you have a smooth voyage?

SUDLEY. [_Pompously._] You must permit me, Mrs. Karslake--

CYNTHIA. [_With good temper, somewhat embarrassed, and talking herself into ease._] 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?

SUDLEY. My dear Mrs. Karslake, I think it might be wiser--

CYNTHIA. [_Still with cordial good temper._] 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.

SUDLEY. [_Very sententious._] I am afraid--

CYNTHIA. [_Gay and still covering her embarrassment._] 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.

SUDLEY. [_After a self-important pause._] I will come, Mrs. Karslake. [_Pausing._] Good-afternoon. [_In a tone of sorrow and light compassion._] Good-bye, Mary. Good-afternoon, Sarah. [_Sighing._] Grace, dear. [_To_ MISS HENEAGE.] At what hour did you say the alimony commences?

MISS HENEAGE. [_Quickly and commandingly to cover his slip._] The ceremony is at three P. M., William.

[SUDLEY _walks toward the door._

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_With fatigued voice and manner as she rises._] I am going to my room to rest awhile.

[_She trails slowly from the room._

MISS HENEAGE. [_To_ SUDLEY.] Oh, William, one moment--I entirely forgot! I've a most important social question to ask you! [_She accompanies him slowly to the door._] in regard to the announcements of the wedding--who they shall be sent to and who not. For instance--the Dudleys-- [_Deep in their talk_, SUDLEY _and_ MISS HENEAGE _pass out together._

CYNTHIA. [_From the sofa._] So that's Cousin William?

GRACE. [_From the tea-table._] Don't you like him?

CYNTHIA. [_Calmly sarcastic._] Like him? I love him. He's so generous. He couldn't have received me with more warmth if I'd been a mulatto.

THOMAS _comes in, preceded by_ PHILLIMORE. PHILIP PHILLIMORE _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 from the bench, and it is practically impossible for him to believe that he can make a mistake._

GRACE. [_Outraged._] Really you know-- [CYNTHIA _moves to the table._] Philip!

PHILIP _nods to_ GRACE _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_ CYNTHIA _on the forehead. Goes to his chair, which_ THOMAS _has moved to suit him. He sits, and sighs with satisfaction._

PHILIP. [_As if exhausted by brain work._] Ah, Grace! [GRACE _immediately sails out of the room._] Well, my dear, I thought I should never extricate myself from the court-room. You look very debonnair!

CYNTHIA. The tea's making. You'll have your glass of sherry?

PHILIP. [_The strain of the day evidently having been severe._] Thanks! [_Taking it from_ THOMAS _and sighing._] Ah!

CYNTHIA. I can see it's been a tiring day with you.

PHILIP. [_His great tussle with the world leaving him unworsted but utterly spent._] H'm! [_He gratefully sips his tea._

CYNTHIA. Were the lawyers very long-winded?

PHILIP. [_Almost too tired for speech._] 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! [_A little suddenly, awaking to the fact that his orders have not been carried out to the letter._] Thomas! My _Post_ is not in its usual place!

CYNTHIA. It's here, Philip. [THOMAS _gets it._

PHILIP. Thanks, my dear. [_Opening "The Post."_] Ah! This hour with you--is--is really the--the-- [_Absently._] the one vivid moment of the day. [_Reading._] 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. [_After a pause, he reads._] H'm! His English is lacking in idiom, his spelling in conservatism, his mind in balance, and his character in repose.

CYNTHIA. [_Amiable but not very sympathetic._] You seem more fatigued than usual. Another glass of sherry, Philip?

PHILIP. Oh, I ought not to--

CYNTHIA. I think you seem a little more tired than usual.

PHILIP. Perhaps I am. [_She pours out sherry._ PHILIP _takes glass but does not sip._] Ah, this hour is truly a grateful form of restful excitement. [_After an inspired interval._] You, too, find it--eh? [_He looks at_ CYNTHIA.

CYNTHIA. [_With veiled sarcasm._] Decidedly.

PHILIP. Decidedly what, my dear?

CYNTHIA. [_Her sarcasm still veiled._] Restful.

PHILIP. H'm! Perhaps I need the calm more than you do. Over the case to-day I actually--eh-- [_Sipping his tea._] slumbered. I heard myself do it. That's how I know. A dressmaker sued on seven counts. [_Reading his newspaper._] 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--

[_Sweeping a descriptive motion with his hand, he gives the paper to_ CYNTHIA, _then moves his glass, reads, and sips._

CYNTHIA. The lamp, Thomas.

THOMAS _blows out the alcohol lamp on the tea-table with difficulty. Blows twice. Movement of_ PHILIP _each time. Blows again._

PHILIP. [_Irritably._] Confound it, Thomas! What are you puffing and blowing at--?

THOMAS. It's out, ma'am--yes, sir.

PHILIP. You're excessively noisy, Thomas!

THOMAS. [_In a fluster._] Yes, sir--I am.

CYNTHIA. [_Soothing_ THOMAS'S _wounded feelings._] We don't need you, Thomas.

THOMAS. Yes, ma'am.

PHILIP. Puffing and blowing and shaking and quaking like an automobile in an ecstasy! [THOMAS _meekly withdraws._

CYNTHIA. [_Not unsympathetically._] Too bad, Philip! I hope my presence isn't too agitating?

PHILIP. 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.

CYNTHIA. [_Admitting that married life is a blank, begins to look through paper._] Yes, I feel as if we were married already.

PHILIP. [_Not recognizing her tone._] Ah! It's the calm, you see.

CYNTHIA. [_Without warmth._] The calm? Yes--yes, it's--it's the calm.

PHILIP. [_Sighs._] Yes, the calm--the Halcyon calm of--of second choice. H'm! [_He reads and turns over the leaves of the paper._ CYNTHIA _reads. There is a silence._] 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?

CYNTHIA. [_Embarrassed._] Oh, eh--well--I--eh--I'm just running over the sporting news.

PHILIP. Oh! [_He looks thoughtful._

CYNTHIA. [_Beginning to forget_ PHILIP _and to remember more interesting matters._] 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.

PHILIP. [_Still interested in his newspaper._] 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 [_Turning a page._], here's the report of my opinion in that dressmaker's case--Haggerty _vs._ Phillimore.

CYNTHIA. [_Puzzled._] Was the case brought against you?

PHILIP. Oh--no. The suit was brought by Haggerty, Miss Haggerty, a dressmaker, against the--in fact, my dear, against the former Mrs. Phillimore. [_After a pause, he returns to his reading._

CYNTHIA. [_Curious about the matter._] How did you decide it?

PHILIP. I was obliged to decide in Mrs. Phillimore's favour. Haggerty's plea was preposterous.

CYNTHIA. Did you--did you meet the--the--former--?

PHILIP. No.

CYNTHIA. I often see her at afternoon teas.

PHILIP. How did you recognize--

CYNTHIA. Why-- [_Opening the paper._] 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.

PHILIP. [_Slowly, considering._] No,--would you find it so impossible to meet Mr.--

CYNTHIA. [_Much excited and aroused._] Philip! Don't speak of him. He's nothing. He's a thing of the past. I never think of him. I forget him!

PHILIP. [_Somewhat sarcastic._] That's extraordinarily original of you to forget him.

CYNTHIA. [_Gently, and wishing to drop the subject._] We each of us have something to forget, Philip--and John Karslake is to me--Well, he's dead!

PHILIP. As a matter of fact, my dear, he _is_ dead, or the next thing to it--for he's bankrupt.

CYNTHIA. [_After a pause._] Bankrupt? [_Excited and moved._] Let's not speak of him. I mean never to see him or think about him or even hear of him! [_He assents. She reads her paper. He sips his tea and reads his paper. She turns a page, starts and cries out._

PHILIP. God bless me!

CYNTHIA. It's a picture of--of--

PHILIP. John Karslake?

CYNTHIA. Picture of him, and one of me, and in the middle between us "Cynthia K!"

PHILIP. "Cynthia K!"

CYNTHIA. [_Excited._] My pet riding mare! The best horse he has! She's an angel even in a photograph! Oh! [_Reading._] "John Karslake drops a fortune at Saratoga." [_Rises and walks up and down excitedly._ PHILIP _takes the paper and reads._

PHILIP. [_Unconcerned, as the matter hardly touches him._] 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--

CYNTHIA. [_Sensitive and much disturbed._] Don't! Don't, Philip, please don't!

PHILIP. My dear Cynthia--take another paper--here's my _Post_! You'll find nothing disagreeable in _The Post_.

[CYNTHIA _takes paper._

CYNTHIA. [_After reading, near the table._] It's much worse in _The Post_. "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. [_Puts paper on the table._

PHILIP. Really, my dear, Mr. Karslake is bound to appear occasionally in print--or even you may have to meet him.

[Thomas _comes in._

CYNTHIA. [_Determined and distressed._] I won't meet him! I won't meet him. Every time I hear his name or "Cynthia K's" I'm so depressed.

THOMAS. [_Announcing with something like reluctance._] Sir, Mr. Fiddler. Mr. Karslake's trainer.

FIDDLER _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._

CYNTHIA. [_Excited and disturbed._] Fiddler? Tim Fiddler? His coming is outrageous!

FIDDLER. A note for you, sir.

CYNTHIA. [_Impulsively._] Oh, Fiddler--is that you?

FIDDLER. Yes'm!

CYNTHIA. [_In a half whisper, still speaking on impulse._] How is she! Cynthia K? How's Planet II and the colt and Golden Rod? How's the whole stable? Are they well?

FIDDLER. No'm--we're all on the bum. [_Aside._] Ever since you kicked us over!

CYNTHIA. [_Reproving him, though pleased._] Fiddler!

FIDDLER. The horses is just simply gone to Egypt since you left, and so's the guv'nor.

CYNTHIA. [_Putting an end to_ FIDDLER.] That will do, Fiddler.

FIDDLER. I'm waiting for an answer, sir.

CYNTHIA. What is it, Philip?

PHILIP. [_Uncomfortable._] A mere matter of business. [_Aside to_ FIDDLER.] The answer is, Mr. Karslake can come. The--the coast will be clear. [FIDDLER _goes out._

CYNTHIA. [_Amazed; rising._] You're not going to see him?

PHILIP. 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.

[CYNTHIA _walks the length of the room in excited dejection._

MATTHEW _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._

MATTHEW. [_Most amiably._] Ah, my dear brother!

PHILIP. [_Greeting him._] Matthew.

MATTHEW. [_Nodding to_ PHILIP.] Good afternoon, my dear Cynthia. How charming you look! [CYNTHIA _sits down at the tea-table. To_ CYNTHIA.] Ah, why weren't you in your pew yesterday? I preached a most original sermon.

[_He lays his hat and cane on the divan._

THOMAS. [_Aside to_ PHILIP.] Sir, Mrs. Vida Phillimore's maid called you up on the telephone, and you're to expect Mrs. Phillimore on a matter of business.

PHILIP. [_Astonished and disgusted._] Here, impossible! [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Excuse me, my dear! [PHILIP, _much embarrassed, goes out, followed by_ THOMAS.

MATTHEW. [_Approaching_ CYNTHIA'S _chair, happily and pleasantly self-important._] 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? [_Gently._] 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?

CYNTHIA. [_Indulgently, in spite of his folly, because he is kind._] You're such a dear, delightful Pagan! Here's your tea!

MATTHEW. [_Taking the tea._] Why, my dear--you have a very sad expression!

CYNTHIA. [_A little bitterly._] Why not?

MATTHEW. [_With sentimental sweetness._] 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!

CYNTHIA. [_Impulsively._] Yes, I have!

MATTHEW. Eh?

CYNTHIA. I committed the unpardonable sin--whe--when I married for love!

MATTHEW. One must not marry for anything else, my dear!

CYNTHIA. Why am I marrying your brother?

MATTHEW. I often wonder why? I wonder why you didn't choose to remain a free woman.

CYNTHIA. [_Going over the ground she has often argued with herself._] 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?

MATTHEW. [_Setting down his teacup._] Yes--yes!

CYNTHIA. [_Growing more and more excited and moved as she speaks._] 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!

MATTHEW. [_Amiable and reminiscent._] Ah--ah--in my youth--I,--I too!

CYNTHIA. [_Coming back to her manner of every day._] And besides--the day Philip asked me I was in the dumps! And now--how about marrying only for love? [PHILIP _comes back._

MATTHEW. Ah, my dear, love is not the only thing in the world!

PHILIP. [_Half aside._] I got there too late, she'd hung up.

CYNTHIA. Who, Philip?

PHILIP. Eh--a lady--eh--

[THOMAS, _flurried, comes in with a card on a salver._

THOMAS. A card for you, sir. Ahem--ahem--Mrs. Phillimore--that was, sir.

PHILIP. Eh?

THOMAS. She's on the stairs, sir. [_He nods backward, only to find_ VIDA _at his side. He announces her as being the best way of meeting the difficulty._] Mrs. Vida Phillimore!

VIDA _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._ THOMAS _withdraws._

VIDA. How do you do, Philip. [_After a pause._] 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. [_To_ MATTHEW, _condescendingly, the clergy being a class of unfortunates debarred by profession from the pleasures of the world._] How do you do? [_Pause. She then goes to the real reason of her visit._] Do be polite and present me to your wife-to-be.

PHILIP. [_Awkwardly._] Cynthia--

CYNTHIA. [_Cheerfully, with dash, putting the table between_ VIDA _and herself._] 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? [MATTHEW _sits near the little table._

VIDA. [_To_ PHILIP.] 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! [_To_ CYNTHIA, _who moves to the tea-table._] My dear, I'm paying you compliments. Five lumps and quantities of cream. I find single life very thinning. [_To_ PHILIP, _calm and ready to be agreeable to any man._] And how well you're looking! It must be the absence of matrimonial cares--or is it a new angel in the house?

CYNTHIA. [_Outraged at_ VIDA'S _intrusion, but polite though delicately sarcastic._] 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. [_Rises._] Do you know it would be in much better taste if you would take the place you're accustomed to?

VIDA. [_As calm as before._] 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--

PHILIP. I assure you--

Vida. [_Unable to resist a thrust._] 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!

PHILIP. [_Feels that this is no place for his future wife. Rises quickly. To_ CYNTHIA.] Cynthia, I would prefer that you left us.

[MATTHEW _moves to the sofa and sits down._

CYNTHIA. [_Determined not to leave the field first, remains seated._] Certainly, Philip!

PHILIP. I expect another visitor who--

VIDA. [_With flattering insistence, to_ CYNTHIA.] 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.

CYNTHIA. [_Taking it with apparent calm, but pointing her remarks._] Naturally. If people in our position couldn't meet, New York society would soon come to an end. [THOMAS _comes in._

VIDA. [_Calm, but getting her knife in too._] Precisely. Society's no bigger than a band-box. Why, it's only a moment ago I saw Mr. Karslake walking--

CYNTHIA. Ah!

THOMAS. [_Announcing clearly. Everyone changes place, in consternation, amusement or surprise._ CYNTHIA _moves to leave the room, but stops for fear of attracting_ KARSLAKE'S _attention._] Mr. John Karslake!

_Enter_ KARSLAKE. _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._ KARSLAKE _sees first_ PHILIP _and then_ MATTHEW. THOMAS _goes out._

PHILIP. How do you do?

JOHN. [_Very gay and no respecter of persons._] Good-afternoon, Mr. Phillimore. Hello--here's the church! [_Crossing to_ MATTHEW _and shaking hands. He slaps him on the back._] 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? [_Sees_ VIDA _and bows, very politely._] Galatians 4:2, "The more the merrier," or "Who next?" [_Smiles._] As the whale said after Jonah! [CYNTHIA _makes a sudden movement, upsetting her tea-cup._ JOHN _faces about quickly and they face each other._ JOHN _gives a frank start. A pause holds them._

JOHN. [_Astounded, in a low voice._] Mrs. Karslake-- [_Bowing._] I was not aware of the pleasure in store for me. I understood you were in the country. [_Recovering and moving to her chair._] Perhaps you'll be good enough to make me a cup of tea?--that is if the teapot wasn't lost in the scrimmage. [_There is another pause._ CYNTHIA, _determined to equal him in coolness, returns to the tea-tray._] Mr. Phillimore, I came to get your signature in that matter of Cox _vs._ Keely.

PHILIP. I shall be at your service, but pray be seated.

[_He indicates a chair by the tea-table._

JOHN. [_Sitting beyond but not far from the tea-table._] And I also understood you to say you wanted a saddle-horse.

PHILIP. You have a mare called--eh--"Cynthia K?"

JOHN. [_Promptly._] Yes--she's not for sale.

PHILIP. Oh, but she's just the mare I had set my mind on.

JOHN. [_With a touch of humour._] You want her for yourself?

PHILIP. [_A little flustered._] I--eh--I sometimes ride.

JOHN. [_Now sure of himself._] She's rather lively for you, Judge. Mrs. Karslake used to ride her.

PHILIP. You don't care to sell her to me?

JOHN. 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!

CYNTHIA. [_Eagerly but in a low voice._] Leave her in mine, Mr. Karslake!

JOHN. [_After a slight pause._] Mrs. Karslake knows all about a horse, but-- [_Turning to_ CYNTHIA.] Cynthia K's got rather tricky of late.

CYNTHIA. [_Haughtily._] You mean to say you think she'd chuck me?

JOHN. [_With polite solicitude and still humourous. To_ PHILIP.] I'd hate to have a mare of mine deprive you of a wife, Judge. [_Rises._ CYNTHIA _shows anger._] She goes to Saratoga next week, C. W.

VIDA. [_Who has been sitting and talking to_ MATTHEW _for lack of a better man, comes to talk to_ KARSLAKE.] C. W.?

JOHN. [_Rising as she rises._] Creditors willing.

VIDA. [_Changing her seat for one near the tea-table._] I'm sure your creditors are willing.

JOHN. Oh, they're a breezy lot, my creditors. They're giving me a dinner this evening.

VIDA. [_More than usually anxious to please._] 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?

JOHN. At what hour, Mrs. Phillimore?

VIDA. Say eleven? And you, too, might have a leading in my direction--771 Fifth Avenue.

[JOHN _bows._ CYNTHIA _hears and notes this._

CYNTHIA. Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.

JOHN. Thanks. [_Taking his tea and sipping it._] I beg your pardon--you have forgotten, Mrs. Karslake--very naturally, it has slipped your memory, but I don't take sugar. [CYNTHIA, _furious with him and herself. He hands the cup back. She makes a second cup._

CYNTHIA. [_Cheerfully; in a rage._] Sorry!

JOHN. [_Also apparently cheerful._] Yes, gout. It gives me a twinge even to sit in the shadow of a sugar-maple! First you riot, and then you diet!

VIDA. [_Calm and amused; aside to_ MATTHEW.] My dear Matthew, he's a darling! But I feel as if we were all taking tea on the slope of a volcano! [MATTHEW _sits down._

PHILIP. It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to find a purchaser for your portrait by Sargent?

JOHN. It's not _my_ 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.

[CYNTHIA _is wounded by this._

PHILIP. H'm!

[CYNTHIA _hands a second cup to_ JOHN.

CYNTHIA. [_With careful politeness._] Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.

JOHN. [_Rising and taking the tea with courteous indifference._] Thanks--sorry to trouble you.

[_He drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table._

PHILIP. [_To make conversation._] You're selling your country place?

JOHN. If I was long of hair--I'd sell that.

CYNTHIA. [_Excited. Taken out of herself by the news._] You're not really selling your stable?

JOHN. [_Finishes his tea, places the empty cup on the tea-table, and reseats himself._] Every gelding I've got--seven foals and a donkey! I don't mean the owner.

CYNTHIA. [_Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the situation._] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper?

JOHN. Streak of blue luck!

CYNTHIA. [_Quickly._] I don't see how it's possible--

JOHN. You would if you'd been there. You remember the head man? [_Sitting down._] Bloke?

CYNTHIA. Of course!

JOHN. 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--

CYNTHIA. [_Horrified._] Sold a race?

JOHN. About ten races, I guess.

CYNTHIA. [_Incredulous._] Just because he'd beaten his wife?

JOHN. No. Because she divorced him.

CYNTHIA. Well, I can't see why that should prey on his mind!

[_Suddenly remembers._

JOHN. 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.

CYNTHIA. [_Throws this remark in._] I never had faith in that horse.

JOHN. 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--

CYNTHIA. Crazy! Crazy!

JOHN. [_Ready to take the opposite view._] I don't see it. With her record she ought to have romped it an easy winner.

CYNTHIA. [_Her sporting instinct asserting itself._] She hasn't the stamina! Look at her barrel!

JOHN. Well, anyhow, Geranium finished me!

CYNTHIA. You didn't lay odds on Geranium!

JOHN. Why not? She's my own mare--

CYNTHIA. Oh!

JOHN. Streak o' bad luck--

CYNTHIA. [_Plainly anxious to say "I told you so."_] 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 [MATTHEW _rises._] on the other side, and I remember you were hot just because I said you showed poor judgment? [_She laughs at the memory. A general movement of disapproval. She remembers the situation._] I beg your pardon.

MATTHEW. [_Rises to meet_ VIDA. _Hastily._] It seems to me that horses are like the fourth gospel. Any conversation about them becomes animated almost beyond the limits of the urbane! [VIDA, _disgusted by such plainness of speech, rises and goes to_ PHILIP _who waves her to a chair._

PHILIP. [_Formally._] I regret that you have endured such reverses, Mr. Karslake. [JOHN _quietly bows._

CYNTHIA. [_Concealing her interest and speaking casually._] You haven't mentioned your new English horse--Pantomime. What did he do at St. Louis?

JOHN. [_Sitting down._] Fell away and ran fifth.

CYNTHIA. Too bad. Was he fully acclimated? Ah, well--

JOHN. We always differed--you remember--on the time needed--

MATTHEW. [_Coming over to_ CYNTHIA, _and speaking to carry off the situation as well as to get a tip._] Isn't there a--eh--a race to-morrow at Belmont Park?

JOHN. Yes. I'm going down in my auto.

CYNTHIA. [_Evidently wishing she might be going too._] Oh!

MATTHEW. And what animal shall you prefer?

[_Covering his personal interest with amiable altruism._

JOHN. I'm backing Carmencita.

CYNTHIA. [_With a gesture of despair._] Carmencita! Carmencita!

[MATTHEW _returns to_ VIDA'S _side._

JOHN. You may remember we always differed on Carmencita.

CYNTHIA. [_Disgusted at_ JOHN'S _dunderheadedness._] 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?

JOHN. [_Never forgetting the situation._] Sorry I'm not flush enough to take you.

CYNTHIA. [_Impetuously._] Philip, dear, you lend John enough for the wager.

MATTHEW. [_As nearly horrified as so soft a soul can be._] Ahem! Really--

JOHN. It's a sporty idea, Mrs. Karslake, but perhaps in the circumstances--

CYNTHIA. [_Her mind on her wager._] In what circumstances?

PHILIP. [_With a nervous laugh._] It does seem to me there is a certain impropriety--

CYNTHIA. [_Remembering the conventions, which, for a moment, had actually escaped her._] Oh, I forgot. When horses are in the air--

MATTHEW. [_Pouring oil on troubled waters. Moving, he speaks to_ VIDA _from the back of her armchair._] It's the fourth gospel, you see. [THOMAS _comes in with a letter on a salver, which he hands to_ PHILIP.

CYNTHIA. [_Meekly._] You are quite right, Philip. [PHILIP _goes up._] The fact is, seeing Mr. Karslake again [_Laying on her indifference with a trowel._] he seems to me as much a stranger as if I were meeting him for the first time.

MATTHEW. [_Aside to_ VIDA.] We are indeed taking tea on the slope of a volcano.

VIDA. [_About to go, but thinking she will have a last word with_ JOHN.] I'm sorry your fortunes are so depressed, Mr. Karslake.

PHILIP. [_Looking at the card that_ THOMAS _has just brought in._] Who in the world is Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby?

[_There is a general stir._

JOHN. Oh--eh--Cates-Darby? [PHILIP _opens the letter which_ THOMAS _has brought with the card._] That's the English chap I bought Pantomime of.

PHILIP. [_To_ THOMAS.] Show Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby in.

THOMAS _goes out. The prospect of an Englishman with a handle to his name changes_ VIDA'S _plans and, instead of leaving the house, she goes to sofa, and poses there._

JOHN. He's a good fellow, Judge. Place near Epsom. Breeder. Over here to take a shy at our races.

THOMAS. [_Opening the door and announcing._] Sir Wilfrid Cates-Darby.

_Enter_ SIR WILFRID CATES-DARBY. _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._

PHILIP. [_To_ SIR WILFRID _and referring to the letter of introduction in his hand._] 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?

SIR WILFRID. [_Delicately mopping his forehead._] Ah, well--ah--warm, no--hot, yes! Deuced extraordinary climate yours, you know, Mr. Phillimore.

PHILIP. [_Conventionally._] Permit me to present you to-- [_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_ CYNTHIA _first._] Mrs. Karslake.

[SIR WILFRID _bows, surprised and doubtful._

CYNTHIA. How do you do?

PHILIP. And to Mrs. Phillimore. [VIDA _bows nonchalantly, but with a view to catching_ SIR WILFRID'S _attention._ SIR WILFRID _bows, and looks from her to_ PHILIP.] My brother--and Mr. Karslake you know.

SIR WILFRID. How do, my boy. [_Half aside, to_ JOHN.] No idea you had such a charming little wife--What?--Eh? [KARSLAKE _moves to speak to_ MATTHEW _and_ PHILIP _in the further room._

CYNTHIA. You'll have a cup of tea, Sir Wilfrid?

SIR WILFRID. [_At the table._] Thanks, awfully. [_Very cheerfully._] I'd no idea old John had a wife! The rascal never told me!

CYNTHIA. [_Pouring tea and facing the facts._] I'm not Mr. Karslake's wife!

SIR WILFRID. Oh!--Eh?--I see--

[_He is evidently trying to think this out._

VIDA. [_Who has been ready for some time to speak to him._] Sir Wilfrid, I'm sure no one has asked you how you like our country?

SIR WILFRID. [_Going to_ VIDA _and standing by her at the sofa._] Oh, well, as to climate and horses, I say nothing. But I like your American humour. I'm acquiring it for home purposes.

VIDA. [_Getting down to love as the basis of conversation._] Aren't you going to acquire an American girl for home purposes?

SIR WILFRID. 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. [_He casts a look at_ PHILIP, _who has gone into the next room._

VIDA. [_Cheerful and unconstrained._] He's not my husband!

SIR WILFRID. [_Completely confused._] 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. [_Sitting down by her._] 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?

VIDA. [_Horrified at being suspected of maternity, but speaking very sweetly._] He's not my husband.

SIR WILFRID. [_His good spirits all gone, but determined to clear things up._] Phew! Awfully hot in here! Who the deuce is John's wife?

VIDA. He hasn't any.

SIR WILFRID. Who's Phillimore's wife?

VIDA. He hasn't any.

SIR WILFRID. Thanks, fearfully! [_To_ MATTHEW, _whom he approaches; suspecting himself of having lost his wits._] Would you excuse me, my dear and Reverend Sir--you're a churchman and all that--would you mind straightening me out?

MATTHEW. [_Most graciously._] Certainly, Sir Wilfrid. Is it a matter of doctrine?

SIR WILFRID. Oh, damme--beg your pardon,--no, it's not words, it's women.

MATTHEW. [_Ready to be outraged._] Women!

SIR WILFRID. It's divorce. Now, the lady on the sofa--

MATTHEW. _Was_ my brother's wife; he divorced her--incompatibility--Rhode Island. The lady at the tea-table _was_ Mr. Karslake's wife; she divorced him--desertion--Sioux Falls. One moment--she is about to marry my brother.

SIR WILFRID. [_Cheerful again._] I'm out! Thought I never would be! Thanks! [VIDA _laughs._

VIDA. [_Not a whit discountenanced and ready to please._] Have you got me straightened out yet?

SIR WILFRID. Straight as a die! I say, you had lots of fun, didn't you? [_Returning to his position by the sofa._] And so _she's_ Mrs. John Karslake?

VIDA. [_Calm, but secretly disappointed._] Do you like her?

SIR WILFRID. My word!

VIDA. [_Fully expecting personal flattery._] Eh?

SIR WILFRID. She's a box o' ginger!

VIDA. You haven't seen many American women!

SIR WILFRID. Oh, haven't I?

VIDA. 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!

SIR WILFRID. I'm there--what!

VIDA. Seven hundred and seventy-one Fifth Avenue.

SIR WILFRID. Seven seventy-one Fifth Avenue--at twelve.

VIDA. At twelve.

SIR WILFRID. Thanks! [_Indicating_ CYNTHIA.] She's a thoroughbred--you can see that with one eye shut. Twelve. [_Shaking hands._] Awfully good of you to ask me. [_He joins_ JOHN.] I say, my boy, your former's an absolute certainty. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] I hear you're about to marry Mr. Phillimore, Mrs. Karslake?

KARSLAKE _crosses to_ VIDA _and together they move to the sofa and sit down._

CYNTHIA. To-morrow, 3 P. M., Sir Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. [_Much taken with_ CYNTHIA.] Afraid I've run into a sort of family party, eh? [_Indicating_ VIDA.] 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--

CYNTHIA. Do you like your tea strong?

SIR WILFRID. Middlin'.

CYNTHIA. Sugar?

SIR WILFRID. One!

CYNTHIA. Lemon?

SIR WILFRID. Just torture a lemon over it. [_He makes a gesture as of twisting a lemon peel. She hands him his tea._] Thanks! So you do it to-morrow at three?

CYNTHIA. At three, Sir Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. Sorry!

CYNTHIA. Why are you sorry?

SIR WILFRID. Hate to see a pretty woman married. Might marry her myself.

CYNTHIA. Oh, but I'm sure you don't admire American women.

SIR WILFRID. Admire you, Mrs. Karslake--

CYNTHIA. Not enough to marry me, I hope.

SIR WILFRID. Marry you in a minute! Say the word. Marry you now--here.

CYNTHIA. You don't think you ought to know me a little before--

SIR WILFRID. Know you? Do know you.

CYNTHIA. [_Covering her hair with her handkerchief._] What colour is my hair?

SIR WILFRID. Pshaw!

CYNTHIA. 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.

SIR WILFRID. Few months of moonshine! Never was a friend to a woman--thank God, in all my life.

CYNTHIA. Oh--oh, oh!

SIR WILFRID. Might as well talk about being a friend to a whiskey-and-soda.

CYNTHIA. A woman has a soul, Sir Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. Well, good whiskey is spirits--dozens o' souls!

CYNTHIA. You are so gross!

SIR WILFRID. [_Changing his seat for one at the tea-table._] 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-- [_Getting closer to her._] You make me feel awfully poetical, you know-- [PHILIP _comes toward them, glances nervously at_ CYNTHIA _and_ SIR WILFRID, _and walks away again._] What's the matter? But, I say--poetry aside--do you, eh---- [_Looking around to place_ PHILIP.] Does he--y'know--is he--does he go to the head?

CYNTHIA. Sir Wilfrid, Mr. Phillimore is my sober second choice.

SIR WILFRID. 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--

CYNTHIA. [_Amused and excusing his audacity as a foreigner's eccentricity._] Really!

SIR WILFRID. Well, I don't offer myself--

CYNTHIA. Oh!

SIR WILFRID. Not this instant--

CYNTHIA. Ah!

SIR WILFRID. But let me drop in to-morrow at ten.

CYNTHIA. What country and state of affairs do you think you have landed in?

SIR WILFRID. 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--

CYNTHIA. I believe you think they throw one in with an ice-cream soda!

SIR WILFRID. [_Rising._] Damme, my dear lady, a marriage in your country is no more than a--eh--eh--what do you call 'em? 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.

CYNTHIA. You're an odd fish! What? I believe I like you!

SIR WILFRID. 'Course you do! You'll see me when I call to-morrow--at ten? We'll run down to Belmont Park, eh?

CYNTHIA. Don't be absurd!

VIDA. [_Has finished her talk with_ JOHN, _and breaks in on_ SIR WILFRID, _who has hung about_ CYNTHIA _too long to suit her._] To-morrow at twelve, Sir Wilfrid!

SIR WILFRID. Twelve!

VIDA. [_Shaking hands with_ JOHN.] Don't forget, Mr. Karslake--eleven o'clock to-morrow.

JOHN. [_Bowing assent._] I won't!

VIDA. [_Coming over to_ CYNTHIA.] 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?

CYNTHIA. [_Distantly and careless of offending._] Thanks, no--that is, is "Cynthia K" really to be there at eleven? I'd give a gold mine to see her again.

VIDA. Do come!

CYNTHIA. If Mr. Karslake will accommodate me by his absence.

VIDA. Dear Mr. Karslake, you'll have to change your hour.

JOHN. Sorry, I'm not able to.

CYNTHIA. I can't come later for I'm to be married.

JOHN. 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.

VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Any hour but eleven, dear.

CYNTHIA. [_Perfectly regardless of_ VIDA, _and ready to vex_ JOHN _if possible._] Mrs. Phillimore, I shall call on you at eleven--to see Cynthia K. I thank you for the invitation. Good-afternoon.

VIDA. [_Aside to_ JOHN, _crossing to speak quietly to him._] It's mere bravado; she won't come.

JOHN. You don't know her.

_There is a pause and general embarrassment._ SIR WILFRID _uses his eye-glass._ JOHN _angry._ CYNTHIA _triumphant._ MATTHEW _embarrassed._ VIDA _irritated._ PHILIP _puzzled. Everybody is at odds._

SIR WILFRID. [_For the first time a witness to the pretty complications of divorce. To_ MATTHEW.] Do you have it as warm as this ordinarily?

MATTHEW. [_For whom these moments are more than usually painful, and wiping his brow._] It's not so much the heat as the humidity.

JOHN. [_Looks at watch and, relieved, glad to be off._] I shall be late for my creditors' dinner.

SIR WILFRID. [_Interested and walking toward_ JOHN.] Creditors' dinner.

JOHN. [_Reading the note._] 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?

VIDA. Of course!

JOHN. [_Ready to embarrass_ CYNTHIA, _if possible, and speaking as if he had quite forgotten their former relations._] Mrs. Karslake--I beg your pardon. Judge? [PHILIP _declines._] No? Sir Wilfrid?

SIR WILFRID. I'm with you!

JOHN. [_To_ MATTHEW.] Your Grace?

MATTHEW. I regret--

SIR WILFRID. Is it the custom for creditors--

JOHN. Come on, Sir Wilfrid! [THOMAS _opens door._] Good-night, Judge--Your Grace--

SIR WILFRID. Is it the custom--

JOHN. Hang the custom! Come on--I'll show you a gang of creditors worth having!

SIR WILFRID _and_ JOHN _go out, arm in arm, preceded by_ VIDA. MATTHEW _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._

MATTHEW. 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. [_He leaves the room quickly and his voice is heard in the hall._] Good-afternoon! Good-afternoon!

CYNTHIA _is evidently much excited. The outer door slams._ PHILIP _comes down slowly._ CYNTHIA _stands, her eyes wide, her breathing visible, until_ PHILIP _speaks, when she seems suddenly to realize her position. There is a long pause._

PHILIP. [_With a superior air._] I have seldom witnessed a more amazing cataclysm of jocundity! Of course, my dear, this has all been most disagreeable for you.

CYNTHIA. [_Excitedly._] Yes, yes, yes!

PHILIP. I saw how much it shocked your delicacy.

CYNTHIA. [_Distressed and moved._] Outrageous.

[PHILIP _sits down._

PHILIP. Do be seated, Cynthia. [_Taking up the paper. Quietly._] Very odd sort of an Englishman--that Cates-Darby!

CYNTHIA. Sir Wilfrid?--Oh, yes! [PHILIP _settles down to the paper. To herself._] Outrageous! I've a great mind to go at eleven--just as I said I would!

PHILIP. Do sit down, Cynthia!

CYNTHIA. What? What?

PHILIP. You make me so nervous--

CYNTHIA. Sorry--sorry. [_She sits down and, seeing the paper, takes it, looking at the picture of_ JOHN KARSLAKE.

PHILIP. [_Sighing with content._] 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, [_Sighs._] at last we have peace--and _The Post_! [PHILIP, _settling himself, reads his paper;_ CYNTHIA, _glancing at her paper, occasionally looks across at_ PHILIP.] Forget the dust of the arena--the prolixity of counsel--the involuntary fatuity of things in general. [_After a pause, he goes on with his reading._] Compose yourself!

MISS HENEAGE, MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ GRACE _come in._ CYNTHIA _sighs without letting her sigh be heard. She tries to compose herself. She glances at the paper and then, hearing_ MISS HENEAGE, _starts slightly._ MISS HENEAGE _and_ MRS. PHILLIMORE _stop at the table._

MISS HENEAGE. [_Carrying a sheet of paper._] There, my dear Mary, is the announcement as I have now reworded it. I took William's suggestion. [MRS. PHILLIMORE _takes and casually reads it._] I also put the case to him, and he was of the opinion that the announcement should be sent _only_ to those people who are really _in_ society. [_She sits near the table._ CYNTHIA _braces herself to bear the_ PHILLIMORE _conversation._

GRACE. I wish you'd make an exception of the Dudleys.

[CYNTHIA _rises and moves to the chair by the table._

MISS HENEAGE. And, of course, that excludes the Oppenheims--the Vance-Browns.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. It's just as well to be exclusive.

GRACE. I do wish you'd make an exception of Lena Dudley.

MISS HENEAGE. We might, of course, include those new Girardos, and possibly--possibly the Paddingtons.

GRACE. I do wish you would take in Lena Dudley.

[_They are now sitting._

MRS. PHILLIMORE. The mother Dudley is as common as a charwoman, and not nearly as clean.

PHILIP. [_Sighing, his own feelings, as usual, to the fore._] Ah! I certainly am fatigued!

CYNTHIA _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._

MISS HENEAGE. [_Making the best of a gloomy future._] 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.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. [_Plaintively._] I don't like common people any more than I like common cats, and of course in my time--

MISS HENEAGE. I think I shall include the Dudleys.

MRS. PHILLIMORE. You think you'll include the Dudleys?

MISS HENEAGE. Yes, I think I will include the Dudleys!

_Here_ CYNTHIA'S _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._

MRS. PHILLIMORE. Why, my dear Cynthia--Compose yourself.

PHILIP. [_Hastily._] What is the matter, Cynthia?

[_They speak together._

MISS HENEAGE. Why, Mrs. Karslake, what is the matter?

GRACE. [_Coming quickly forward._] Mrs. Karslake!

CURTAIN.