PHILIP. [_Walking forward and looking around him._] Where's Cynthia? [CYNTHIA _rises, and, at the movement_, PHILIP _sees her and moves toward her. The organ grows suddenly silent._ CYNTHIA. [_Faintly._] Here I am. [MATTHEW _comes down. Organ plays softly._ MATTHEW. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Ah, my very dear Cynthia, I knew there was something. Let me tell you the words of the hymn I have chosen: "Enduring love; sweet end of strife! Oh, bless this happy man and wife!" I'm afraid you feel--eh--eh! CYNTHIA. [_Desperately calm._] I feel awfully queer--I think I need a scotch. _Organ stops._ PHILIP _remains uneasily at a little distance._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ GRACE _enter back slowly, as cheerfully as if they were going to hear the funeral service read. They remain near the doorway._ MATTHEW. Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity--I mean--ceremony of this--this unique occasion, there should be sufficient exhilaration. CYNTHIA. [_With extraordinary control._] But there isn't! [_Feeling weak, she sits down._ MATTHEW. I don't think my Bishop would approve of--eh--anything _before_! CYNTHIA. [_Too agitated to know how much she is moved._] I feel very queer. MATTHEW. [_Piously sure that everything is for the best._] My dear child-- CYNTHIA. However, I suppose there's nothing for it--now--but--to--to-- MATTHEW. Courage! CYNTHIA. [_Desperate and with a sudden explosion._] Oh, don't speak to me. I feel as if I'd been eating gunpowder, and the very first word of the wedding service would set it off! MATTHEW. My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. [CYNTHIA _speaks more rapidly and with growing excitement._ MATTHEW _makes a movement toward the_ CHOIR BOYS. CYNTHIA. Ah,--that's it--nature! [MATTHEW _shakes his head._] I've a great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck. PHILIP. Matthew! [_He moves to take his stand for the ceremony._ MATTHEW. [_Looks at_ PHILIP. _To_ CYNTHIA.] Philip is ready. [PHILIP _comes forward and the organ plays the wedding march._ CYNTHIA. [_To herself, as if at bay._] Ready? Ready? Ready? MATTHEW. Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm. [MISS HENEAGE _moves stiffly nearer to the table._] Sarah! [_He waves_ MISS HENEAGE _in the direction of_ CYNTHIA, _at which she advances a joyless step or two._ MATTHEW _goes over to give the choir a low direction._] Now please don't forget, my boys. When I raise my hands so, you begin, "Enduring love, sweet end of strife," etc. [CYNTHIA _has risen. On the table by which she stands is her long lace cloak._ MATTHEW _assumes sacerdotal importance and takes his position inside the altar of flowers._] Ahem! Philip! [_He signs to_ PHILIP _to take his position._] Sarah! [CYNTHIA _breathes fast, and supports herself against the table._ MISS HENEAGE, _with the silent air of a martyr, goes toward her and stands for a moment looking at her._] The ceremony will now begin.