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.