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.