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!