SIR WILFRID. [_Accustomed to have things go his way._] No more than breathin'! You can't get a w'im for me, you know, unless we're together, so together we'll be! [JOHN KARSLAKE _opens the door, and, unnoticed, walks into the room._] And to-morrow you'll wake up with a jolly little w'im--, [_Reading._] "Postpone ceremony till seven-thirty." There. [_He puts on her cloak and turning, sees_ JOHN.] Hello! JOHN. [_Surly._] Hello! Sorry to disturb you. SIR WILFRID. [_Cheerful as possible._] Just the man! [_Giving him the telegraph form._] Just step round and send it, my boy. Thanks! [JOHN _reads it._ CYNTHIA. No, no, I can't go! SIR WILFRID. Cockety-coo-coo-can't. I say, you must! CYNTHIA. [_Positively._] _No!_ JOHN. [_Astounded._] Do you mean you're going-- SIR WILFRID. [_Very gay._] Off to the races, my boy! JOHN. [_Angry and outraged._] Mrs. Karslake can't go with you there! CYNTHIA _starts, amazed at his assumption of marital authority, and delighted that she will have an opportunity of outraging his sensibilities._ SIR WILFRID. Oho! JOHN. An hour before her wedding! SIR WILFRID. [_Gay and not angry._] May I know if it's the custom-- JOHN. [_Jealous and disgusted._] It's worse than eloping-- SIR WILFRID. Custom, y' know, for the husband, that was, to dictate-- JOHN. [_Thoroughly vexed._] By George, there's a limit! CYNTHIA. What? What? What? [_Gathering up her things._] What did I hear you say? SIR WILFRID. Ah! JOHN. [_Angry._] I say there's a limit-- CYNTHIA. [_More and more determined to arouse and excite_ JOHN.] Oh, there's a limit, is there? JOHN. There is! I bar the way! It means reputation--it means-- CYNTHIA. [_Enjoying her opportunity._] We shall see what it means! SIR WILFRID. Aha! JOHN. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] I'm here to protect your reputation-- SIR WILFRID. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] We've got to make haste, you know. CYNTHIA. Now, I'm ready-- JOHN. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Be sensible. You're breaking off the match-- CYNTHIA. [_Excitedly._] What's that to you? SIR WILFRID. It's boots and saddles! JOHN. [_Taking his stand between them and the door._] No thoroughfare! SIR WILFRID. Look here, my boy--! CYNTHIA. [_Catching at the opportunity of putting_ JOHN _in an impossible position._] Wait a moment, Sir Wilfrid! Give me the wire! [_Facing him._] Thanks! [_Taking the telegraph form from him and tearing it up._] There! Too rude to chuck him by wire! But you, Jack, you've taken on yourself to look after my interests, so I'll just ask you, old man, to run down to the Supreme Court and tell Philip--nicely, you know--I'm off with Sir Wilfrid and where! Say I'll be back by seven, if I'm not later! And make it clear, Jack, I'll marry him by eight-thirty or nine at the latest! And mind _you're_ there, dear! And now, Sir Wilfrid, we're off. JOHN. [_Staggered and furious, giving way as they pass him._] I'm not the man to--to carry-- CYNTHIA. [_Quick and dashing._] Oh, yes, you are. JOHN. --a message from you.