 Act. 3. Scene. The same as that of Act. 1, but the room has been cleared of superfluous furniture and arranged for a wedding ceremony. Mrs. Fillmore is reclining on the sofa at the right of the table, Miss Hennage at its left. Suddenly a seated at the right of the table. Grace is seated on the sofa. There is a wedding bell of roses, an arch of orange blossoms, and girdled by a ribbon of white, an altar of calla lilies. There are cushions of flowers, alcoves of flowers, vases of flowers. In short, flowers everywhere, and in profusion and variety. Before the altar are two cushions for the couple to kneel on, and on pedestals at each side of the arch are twin candelabra. The hangings are pink and white. The room, first of all, and its emblems holds the undivided attention, then slowly engaging it, and in contrast to their gay surroundings, the occupants. About each and every one of them hangs a deadly atmosphere of suppressed irritation. All very well, my dear Sara. But you see the hour, twenty to ten. We have been here since half past two. You had dinner? I didn't come here at two to have dinner, really, and we kept waiting until ten. And, my dear Sara, when I asked where the bride is... I have told you all I know. Mr. John Carsley came to the house at lunchtime, spoke to Philip, and they left the house together. Where is Philip? I don't wish to be sensorious or to express an actual opinion, but I must say it's a bold bride who keeps her future mother-in-law waiting for eight hours. However, I will not venture to... I do. I'm sorry I went to the expense of a silver ice-pitcher. Mrs. Fillmore sighs. Miss Hennage keeps her temper with an effort which is obvious. Thomas opens the door. For my part. I don't believe Mrs. Carsley means to return here or to marry Philip at all. Thomas coming in and approaching Miss Hennage. Two telegrams for you, ma'am. The choir boys have had their supper. A slight movement ripples the ominous calm of all. Thomas steps back. At last we shall know. From the lady, probably. Miss Hennage opens the first telegram and reads it at a glance, laying it on the salver again with a look at Sudley. Thomas passes the salver to Sudley, who takes the telegram. There's a toot now. I don't wish to intrude, but really I cannot imagine Philip marrying at midnight. As Sudley reads, Miss Hennage opens the second telegram but does not read it. Sudley reading. Accident. Auto-strap. Something. Guess who did. That's something. Elizabeth. Home by 945. Hold the church. A general movement sets in. Hold the church. William. She still means to marry Philip. And to-night, too. It's from Balmont Park. She went to the races. This is from Philip. Reading the second telegram. I arrive at ten o'clock. Have dinner ready. Miss Hennage motions to Thomas, who obeying retires, looking at her watch. They are both due now. What's to be done? She rises and Sudley shrugs his shoulders. But a young woman spent her wedding day at the races. Why, I consider that she has broken the engagement, and when she comes, still has so. I'll telephone Matthew. The choir boys can go home. Her maid can pack her belongings. And when the lady arrives... Impudently, the very distant toot of an auto-horn breaks in upon her words, producing, in proportion to its growing nearness, an increasing pitch of excitement and indignation. Grace flies to the door and looks out. Mrs. Fillamore, helpless, does not know what to do or where to go or what to say. Sudley moves about excitedly. Miss Hennage stands ready to make herself disagreeable. I hear a man's voice. Kate Starby and brother met you. A loud and brazenly insistent toot outrages afresh. Laughter and voices outside are heard faintly. Grace looks out of the door and, as quickly withdraws. Outrages. Does Grace follow? Shocking. I shall not take any part at all in the... uh... Don't. Trouble yourself. Through the growing noise of voices and laughter, Cynthia's voice is heard. Sir Wilfred is seen in the outer hall. He is burdened with raps, not to mention a newspaper in Parasol, which in no wise check his flow of gay remarks to Cynthia, who is still outside. Cynthia's voice and now Matthews reach those inside and, at last, both joins Sir Wilfred, who has turned at the door to wait for them. As she reaches the door, Cynthia turns and speaks to Matthew, who immediately follows her. She is in automobile attire, wearing goggles, a veil, and an exquisite duster of latest Paris style. They come in with a subdued bustle and noise. As their eyes light on Cynthia, Sudley and Miss Hennage exclaim, and there is a general movement. Up on my ward. Huh. Shocking. Grace remains standing above Sofa. Sudley moves toward her, Miss Hennage sitting down again. Mrs. Fillmore reclines on Sofa. Cynthia begins to speak as soon as she appears and speaks fluently to the end. No. I never was so surprised in my life as when I strolled into the paddock and they gave me a rousing reception. Old Jimmy Withers, Debt Gallup, Jack Deal, Monty Spiffles, the Governor, and Buckeye, all of my old admirers, they simply fell on my neck and, dear Matthew, what do you think I did? I turned on the water main. There are movements and murmurs of disapprobation from the family. Matthew indicates a desire to go. Oh, but you can't go. I'll return it in no time. I'm all ready to be married. Are they ready? Matthew waves a pious, polite gesture of recognition to the family. I beg everybody's pardon. Taking off her wrap and putting it on the back of a chair. My goggles are so dusty I can't see who's who. To Sir Wilfred. Thanks. You have carried it well. She takes the parasol from Sir Wilfred. When may I? See you next, Goodwood. Oh, I'm coming back. Not a bit of use in coming back. I shall be married before you get here. Ta-ta! Goodwood. I'm coming back. Cynthia beginning to take off her goggles and moving nearer the family. I do awfully apologize for being so late. Mrs. Carslake. Uh-huh. Cynthia lays down goggles and sees their severity. Dear me. Surveying the flowers and for a moment speechless. Oh, good heavens. Why, it looks like a smart funeral. After what has occurred, Mrs. Carslake? Cynthia glances quietly toward the table and then sits down at it, composed and good-tempered. I see you got my wire, so you know where I have been. To the race course. With a rowdy Englishman. We concluded your desire to break the engagement. No, no, oh, no. Do you intend, despite of our opinion of you? The only opinion that would have any weight with me would be Mrs. Philomores. She turns expectantly to Mrs. Philomores. I am generally asleep at this hour, and accordingly I will not venture to express any actual opinion. You smile. We simply inform you that as regards to us, the alliance is not grateful. And all this because the gasoline gave out? My patience has given out. So has mine. I'm going. She makes good her word. My dear young lady, you come here to desecrate and asper, alter, audifers of the paddock, speaking of spiffles and buckeye, having practically eloped, having faded a scandal, and disgraced our family. How does it disgrace you? Because I like to see a high-bred, clean, nervy, sweet little four-legged ghee play the antelope over a hurdle. Sister, it is high time that you... She turns to Cynthia with a gesture. Mrs. Philomores is generally asleep at this hour, and accordingly she will not venture to express. Enough, madam. I venture to say you are living a fast life. Not in this house. For six heavy weeks have I been laid away in the grave, and I've found it very slow indeed trying to keep pace with the dead. This comes of horses. Of what? Caring for horses. What Mrs. Cars Lake cares for is men. What would you have me care for? The Ornitho-Rinkus paradoxus, or Pitha-Kentropus erectus? Oh, I refuse to take you seriously. Suddenly begins to prepare to leave. He buttons himself into respectability and his coat. My dear madam, I take myself seriously, and, madam, I retract what I have brought with me as a graceful gift, an Egyptian scarab, a sacred medial, which once ornamented the person over at my me. It should never be absent from your pocket, Mr. Sudley. Sudley walks away in a rage. I have a vast mind to withdraw mine. Your wedding present, the little bronze cat. Oh. Even Mrs. Fillmore comes momentarily to life and expresses silent indignation. Sara, I'm going. Grace, who has met Philip, takes occasion to accompany him into the room. Philip looks dusty and grim. As they come in, Grace speaks to him, and Philip shakes his head. They pause near the door. I shall go to my room. However, all I ask is that you repeat to Philip. As she moves toward the door, she comes suddenly upon Philip and speaks to him in a low voice. As I go out, I shall do myself a pleasure of calling a handsome for Mrs. Castley. Philip moves slightly from the door. As you go out, Sudley, have a handsome called, and when he comes, get into it. Uh-uh, my dear Sara, I'll leave you to your fate. Philip angrily points him the door, and Sudley leaves in great haste. Philip, you've not heard. Everything from Grace. My sister has repeated your words to me, and her own. I've told her what I think of her. Philip looks witheringly at Grace. I shan't wait to hear any more. She flounces out of the room. Don't make it necessary for me to tell you what I think of you. Philip moves to the right toward his mother, to whom he gives his arm. Miss Hennage immediately seeks the opposite side. Mother, with your permission, I desire to be alone. I expect both you and Grace, Sara, to be dressed and ready for the ceremony a half-hour from now. I shall come or not as I see fit, and let me add, my dear brother, that a fool at forty is a fool indeed. Miss Hennage, high and mighty, goes out much pleased with her quotation. My dear son, I won't venture to express. No, mother, don't. But I shall expect you, of course, at the ceremony. Mrs. Fillmore languidly retires. Philip strides to the center of the room, taking the tone and assuming the attitude of the injured husband. It is proper for me to tell you that I followed you to Belmont. I am aware. I know with whom. In fact, I know all. And now, let me assure you, I am the last man in the world to be jilted on the very eve of—of—everything with you. I won't be jilted. Cynthia is silent. You understand? I propose to marry you. I won't be made ridiculous. Philip, I didn't mean to make you. Why then did you run off to Belmont Park with that fellow? Philip, I—uh— What motive? What reason? On our wedding day! Why did you do it? I'll tell you the truth. I was bored. Bored? In my company? I was bored, and then—besides, Sir Wilfred asked me to go. Exactly. And that was why you went. Cynthia, when you promised to marry me, you told me you had forever done with love. You agreed that marriage was the rational coming together of two people. I know! I know! Do you believe that now? I don't know what I believe. My brain is in a whirl. But Philip, I am beginning to be—I'm afraid—yes, I am afraid that one can't just select a great and good man and say I will be happy with him. I don't see why not. You must assuredly do one or the other. You must either let your heart choose or your head select. No, there's a third scheme. Sir Wilfred explained the theory to me. A woman should marry whenever she has a whim for the man and then leave the rest to the man. Do you see? Do I see? Have I ever seen anything else? Marry for whim. That's the New York idea of marriage. New York ought to know. Marry for whim and leave the rest to the divorce court. Marry for whim and leave the rest to the man. That was the former Mrs. Fillimore's idea. Only she spelled whim differently. She omitted the W. And now, you, you take up with this preposterous—but nonsense! It's impossible! A woman of your metal caliber—no! Some obscure, primitive, female feeling is at work corrupting your better judgment. What is it you feel? Philip, you never felt like a fool, did you? No, never. I thought not. No, but whatever your feelings, I conclude you are ready to marry me. Of course I came back. I am here, am I not? You are ready to marry me? But you haven't had your dinner. Do I understand you refuse? Couldn't we defer? You refuse? No, I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my word. I will. Ah! Very good, then. Run to your room. Cynthia turns to Philip. Throw something over you. In a half hour I'll expect you here. And Cynthia, my dear, remember, I cannot calculate like a wood-pigeon, but I esteem you. I think I'll go, Philip. I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but— I think I'll go, Philip. I'll expect you in half an hour. Yes. And Cynthia, don't think any more about that fellow Kate's Darby. No. As Cynthia leaves, Thomas comes in from the opposite door. Philip, not seeing Thomas, and clumsily defiant. And if I had that fellow Kate's Darby in the dock— Sir Wilfred Kate's Darby. Sir what? What? Who? Sir Wilfred enters an evening dress. Philip looks Sir Wilfred in the face and speaks to Thomas. Also, Sir Wilfred Kate's Darby, I am not at home to him. Thomas is embarrassed. My dear, Lord Eldon! Philip, again addressing Thomas. Show the gentleman the door. There is a pause. Sir Wilfred, with a significant gesture, glances at the door. Sir Wilfred, moving to the door, he examines it and returns to Philip. Eh? I admire the door, my boy. Final cut from a hugony panel, but don't ask me to leave by it. Mrs. Carl's leg made me promise I'd come, and that's why I'm here. Thomas does not wait for further orders. Sir, you are impudent. Ah! You put it all in a nutshell, don't you? To show your face here, after practically eloping with my wife. When were you married? We are as good as married. Oh, poo-poo! You can't tell me that grace before soup is as good as the dinner. Sir, I demand— Mrs. Carl's leg is not married. That's why I'm here. I'm here for the same purpose. You are. To ask Mrs. Carl's leg to be my wife. Are you in your senses? Come, come, Judge. Americans have no sense of humour. Taking a small jewel case from his pocket. There's my regards for the lady, and, if I must go, I will. Of course. I would like to see her, but if it isn't your American custom— Thomas opens the door and announces— Mr. Carl's leg. Oh, well, I say. If he can come, I can. John Carl's leg in evening dress comes in quickly, carrying a large and very smart brides 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. My compliments to the bride, Judge. And you, too, have the effrontery. There you are. I'll call it friendship. This leaves. Philip puts bouquet on the table. I suppose Mrs. Carl's leg— She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and, of course— Throughout his stage, 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 Wilfred, sitting down on the edge of the table, is gay and undisturbed. You will oblige me, both of you, by immediately leaving. Oh, come, come, Judge. Suppose I am here, and who has a better right to attend his wife's obsequies? Certainly I come as a mourner. For you. I say, is it your custom? No, no, of course it's not that custom. No, but we'll make it the custom. After all, what's a divorced wife among friends? Sir, your humor is strained. Humor, Judge? It is, sir, and I'll not be bantered. For both being here is, it is, gentlemen, there is decorum which the stars in their courses do not violate. No, Judge, never you mind what the stars do in their divorces. Get down to the earth of the present day. Rufus Chote and Daniel Webster are dead. You must be mourned. You must let peroration and poetry alone come along now. Why shouldn't I get the lady away? Here, here, I beg your pardon. 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 of so messed the thing up that a man can't be sure he is married until he's divorced. It's a sort of merry-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. Good Lord, you cannot trifle with monogamy. Now, now, Judge, monogamy is just as extinct as knee-bretches. The new woman has a new idea, and the new idea is, well, it's just the opposite of the old Mormon one. Their idea is one man, ten wives, and a hundred children. Our idea is one woman, a hundred husbands, and one child. Sir, this is polyandry. Polyandry? A hundred to one, it's polyandry, and that's it, Judge. Little Sam has established consecutive polyandry, but there's got to be an interval between husbands. The fact is, Judge, the modern American marriage is like a wire fence. The woman's the wire, the posts are the husbands. One, two, three, and if you cast your eye over the future, you can count them, post after post, uphill, down, dale, all the way to Dakota. All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains. Now now, Judge, I like you. But you're asleep, you're living in the dark ages. You ought to call up Central. Hello, Central, give me the present time, 1906, New York. Of course you do, and there you are. There I am not, sir, and, as for Mr. Carstleck's ill-time jocosity, sir, in the future— Oh, hang the future. I begin to hope, sir Wilfred, that in the future I shall have the pleasure of hanging you. To John. And as to you, sir, your insensate idea of giving away your own—your former—my—your—oh, good Lord, this is a nightmare! He turns to go and despair. Matthew coming in meets him and stops him at the door. My dear brother, Aunt Sarah Henneage refuses to give Mrs. Carstleck away, unless you yourself—uh— Philip as he goes out. No more. I'll attend to the matter. The choir boys are heard practicing in the next room. Matthew mopping his brow. How do you both do? My aunt has made me very warm. Ringing the bell. You hear our choir practicing. Great angel boys! Hmm! Hmm! Some of the family will not be present. I am very fond of you, Mr. Carstleck, and I think it admirably Christian of you to have waved your—uh—your—uh—that is, now that I look at it more narrowly, let me say that in the excitement of pleasurable anticipation I forgot, Carstleck, that your presence might occasion remark. Thomas responds to his ring. Thomas! I left in the hall a small handbag or satchel containing my surplus. Yes, sir. You must really find the handbag at once. Thomas turns to go when he stops startled. Yes, sir. Announcing in consternation. Mrs. Vida Fillimore. Vida Fillimore in full evening dress steps gently up to Matthew. Ah! My dear child! Now this is just as it should be. That is—uh— He walks to the centre of the room with her, Vida, the while pointedly disregarding Sir Wilfred. That is, when I come to think of it, your presence might be deemed inauspicious. But my dear Matthew, I had to come. Aside to him. I have a reason for being here. Thomas, who has left the room, again appears. But my dear child! Sir—Mr. Fillimore wishes to have your assistance, sir, with Ms. Henage, immediately. Ah! To Vida. One moment. I'll return. To Thomas. Have you found the bag with my surplus? He goes out with Thomas, speaking. Sir Wilfred moves at once to Vida. John moving to a better position watches the door. Sir Wilfred to Vida. You're just the person I most want to see. Oh, no, Sir Wilfred, Cynthia isn't here yet. She moves to the table, and John, his eyes on the door, coming toward her. She speaks to him with obvious sweetness. Jack! Dear, I never was so ravished to see any one. Bye, Jove! I knew I should find you here. Ah! Now don't do that! Jack! Don't do it! Do what, Jack? Touch me with your voice. I have troubles enough of my own. And I know who your troubles are—Cynthia. From this moment, Vida abandons John as an object of the chase and works him into her other game. I hate her. I don't know why I came. You came, dear, because you couldn't stay away. You're in love with her. All right, Vida, what I feel may be love. But all I can say is, if I could get even with Cynthia Karr's lake— You can, dear. It's as easy as powdering one's face. All you have to do is be too nice to me. Eh? Don't you realize she's jealous of you? Why did she come to my house this morning? She's jealous! And all you have to do— If I can make her wince, I'll make love to you till the heavenly cows come home. Well, you see, my dear, if you make love to me, it will— Delicately indicating Sir Wilfred. But both ways at once. Eh? What? Not Kate's Darby? Starting. Is that Cynthia? Now don't get rattled and forget to make love to me. I've got the jumps. Vida, I adore you. You must be more convincing. That won't do at all. Is that she now? Matthew comes in and passes to the inner room. It's Matthew. And Jack, dear, you'd best get the hang of it before Cynthia comes. You might tell me all about your divorce. That's a sympathetic subject. Were you able to undermine it? No. I've got a wire from my lawyer this morning. The divorce holds. She's a free woman. She can marry whom she likes. The organ is heard very softly played. Is that Cynthia? He rises quickly. It's the organ. By George! I should never have come. I think I'll go. When I need you. I can't stand it. Oh, but Jack. Good night. I feel quite ill. Seeing that she must play her last card to keep him pretends to faintness, sways and falls into his arms. Oh! I believe you're putting up a fake. The organ swells as Cynthia enters sweepingly, dressed in full evening dress for the wedding ceremony. John, not knowing what to do, keeps his arms about Vita as a horrid necessity. Cynthia speaking as she comes in to Matthew. Here I am, ridiculous to make it a conventional thing, you know. Come in on the swell of the music and all that just as if I'd never been married before. Where's Philip? She looks for Philip and sees John with Vita in his arms. She stops short. A glass of water. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Carr's Lake. Vita. She is fainted. Dear, dear, dear, terrible, so she has. Sir Wilfred takes the flowers from a vase and prepares to sprinkle Vita's forehead with the water it contains. No, no, not her forehead, Sir Wilfred, her frock. Sprinkle her best pecan if it's a real faint she will not come to. Vita, coming quickly to her senses as her Paris importation is about to suffer. I almost fainted. Almost. Vita, using the stock phrase as a matter of course and reviving rapidly. Where am I? John glances at Cynthia sharply. Oh! The bride! I beg everyone's pardon. Cynthia, at a crisis like this I simply couldn't stay away from Philip. Stay away from Philip? Your arm, Jack, and lead me where there is air. John and Vita go into the further room. The organ stops. Sir Wilfred and Cynthia are practically alone in the room. John and Vita are barely within sight. He is first seen to take her fan and give her air, then to pick up a book and read to her. I've come back. Asks for air and goes to the greenhouse. Cynthia crosses the room and Sir Wilfred offers her a seat. I know why you are here. It's that intoxicating little whim you suppose me to have for you. My regrets, but the whim's gone flat. Yes, yes, my gasoline days are over. I'm going to be garaged for good. However, I'm glad you're here. You take the edge off. Mr. Fillmore? No, Cars Lake. I'm just waiting to say the words. Thomas comes in unnoticed. Love, honour, and obey to Fillmore and at Cars Lake. Seeing Thomas. What is it, Mr. Fillmore? Mr. Fillmore will be down in a few minutes, ma'am. He's very sorry, ma'am. Lowering his voice and coming nearer to Cynthia, mindful of the respectabilities. There's a button off his waistcoat. Button off his waistcoat. Thomas goes out. Ah, so much the better for me. Cynthia looks into the other room. Now then, never mind those two. Sit down. I can't. You're as nervous as. Nervous, of course I'm nervous. So would you be nervous if you'd had a runaway and smash up and you were going to try it again? She is unable to take her eyes from Vida and John, and Sir Wilfred noting this grows uneasy. And if someone doesn't do away with those Cala lilies, the odor makes me faint. No, it's not the lilies, it's the orange blossoms. Orange blossoms? The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the abyss. Sir Wilfred promptly confiscates the vase of orange blossoms. They smell of six o'clock in the evening. When Phillips fall in asleep and little boys are crying the winners outside, and I'm crying inside, and dying inside and outside and everywhere. Sorry to disappoint you, they're artificial. That's it. They're emblematic of artificial domesticity. I'm here to help you bulk it. He sits down and Cynthia half rises and looks toward John and Vida. Keep still now. I've a lot to say to you. Stop looking. Do you think I can listen to you make love to me when the man who, who, who my most despise in all the world is reading poetry to the woman who, who got me into the fix I'm in? What do you want to look at them for? Let them be, and listen to me. Sit down for them, I'm determined. I won't look at them, I won't think of them, beasts. Sir Wilfred interposes between her and her view of John. Thomas opens the door and walks in. Now then. Those two here. It's just as if Adam and Eve should invite the snake to their golden wedding. Seeing Thomas. What is it? What's the matter? Mr. Fillmore's excuses, ma'am, in a very short time. Thomas goes out. I'm on to you, you hoped for more buttons. I'm dying of the heat, fan me. Sir Wilfred fans, Cynthia. Heat? No. You're dying because you're ignoring nature. Certainly you are. You're marrying Fillmore. Can't ignore nature, Mrs. Cartleg. Yes, you are. You're forcing your feelings, and what you want to do is to let yourself go a bit. Up anchor and sit tight. I'm no seaman, but that's the idea. So just throw the reins on nature's neck, jump this fellow, Fillmore, and marry me. You propose to me here at a moment like this. And I'm on the last lap, just inside of the goal. The gallows, the halter, the altar, I don't know what its name is. No, I won't have you, and I won't have you stand near me. I won't have you talking to me in a low tone. Stand over there. Stand where you are. I say. I can hear you. I'm listening. Well, don't look so hurried and worried. You've got buttons and buttons of time, and now my offer. You haven't yet said you would. Marry you. I don't even know you. Oh, tell you all about myself. I'm no duke in a pickle of debts, do you see? I can marry well I'd like. Some of my countrymen are rotters, you know. They'd marry a monkey if pop up the tree had a corner in coconuts, and they do marry some queer ones, you know. Cynthia looks beyond him, exclaims and turns. Sir Wilfred turns. Do they? Oh, rather. That's what's giving your heiresses such a bad name lately. If a fellow's in debt, he can't pick and choose, and then he swears that American girls are awfully fine lookers, but they're no good when it comes to continuing the race. Fair dolls in the drawing room, but no good in the nursery. I can see Vida in the nursery. You understand when you want a brood mare who don't choose a Kentucky mule. I think I see one. Well, that's what they're saying over there. They say your girls want to talk, and I have seen girls here that would chat life into a wooden Indian. That's what you Americans call being clever. All brains are no stuffing. In fact, some of your American girls are the nicest boys I've ever met. So that's what you think? Not a bit what I think, what my countrymen think. Why are you telling me? Oh, just explaining my character, I'm the sort that can pick and choose, and what I want is heart. No more heart than a dragonfly. The organ begins to play softly. That's it. Dragonfly. Cold as stone and never stops buzzing about and showing off her colors. It's that American dragonfly girl that I'm afraid of. Because you see, I don't know what an American expects when he marries, yes. But you're not listening. I am listening. I am. And this man you see, when he marries, expects three things, love, obedience, and five children. Three things? I make it seven. Yes, my dear, but the point is, will you be Mistress Of Trannum? No, Sir Wilfred, thank you, I won't. She turns to see John walk across the drawing-room with Vita, and apparently absorbed in what she is saying. It's outrageous! Hey, why are you crying? I am not. You're not crying because you're in love with me? I'm not crying. Or if I am, I'm crying because I love my country. It's a disgrace to America, cast off husbands and wives getting together in a parlor and playing tag under a palm tree. John, with intention and determined to stab Cynthia, kisses Vita's hand. Eh? Oh, I'm damned. What do you think that means? I don't doubt it means a wedding here, at once, after mine. Vita and John leave the drawing-room, and walk slowly toward them. Hush, Jack, I'd much rather no one should know anything about it, until it's all over. Cynthia starting and looking at Sir Wilfred. What did I tell you? Vita to Cynthia. Oh, my dear, he's asked me to champagne and lobster at your house, his house. Matthew is coming. Vita starts, but controls herself. And your to-comes, Sir Wilfred. Intending to convey the idea of a sudden marriage ceremony. Of course, my dear, I would like to wait for your wedding, but something rather important to me is to take place, and I know you'll excuse me. The organ stops. Oh, very neat, but you haven't given me a chance, even. Chance? You're not serious. I am. I'll give you a minute to offer yourself. Eh? Sixty seconds from now. There's such a thing as being silly. Fifty seconds left. I take you counter-fair. I say Mrs. Cardslake. They're engaged. They're going to be married tonight, over champagne and lobster at my house. Well, you can silly you're. No, no, no, no. Thank you, Sir Wilfred, I will not. Thanks awfully, Mrs. Fillmore. Too late. To Cardslake. Jack, dear, we must be off. I say, is it your custom for American girls that sixty seconds or too late? Look here, not a bit too late. I'll take you around to Jack Cardslake's, and I'm going to ask the same old question again, you know. But I, Joe, you know in your country it's the pace that kills. Sir Wilfred follows Vida out the door. Good night, Mrs. Cardslake. I'm going. I'm sorry I came. Sorry, why are you sorry? You've got what you wanted. I wouldn't mind your marrying Vida. Oh, wouldn't you? But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging yourselves here. Of course I should have preferred a garden of roses and plenty of twilight. I'll tell you what you have done. You've thrown yourself away. A woman like that, no head, no heart. All langer and loose, loose frocks. She's the typical worst thing America can do. She's the regular American marriage worm. I have known others. Not me. I'm not a pat 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? I begin to think she's just the woman. She is not the woman for you, a man with your bad temper, your heirs of authority, your assumption of everything. What you need is a good old fashioned bread poultice woman. Cynthia comes to a full stop and faces him. Can't say I've had any experience of the good old fashioned bread poultice. I don't care what you say. If you married Vita Fillmore, you shan't do it. 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. I thought I was divorced. I begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still. You have. You shall have. If you attempt to marry her I'll follow you and I'll find her. I'll tell Vita. I will. I'll tell Vita just what sort of a dance you led me. Indeed. Will you? And why do you care what happens to me? I... I... Uh... Why do you care? I don't. Not in your sense. How dare you then pretend? I don't pretend. How dare you look me in the face with the eyes that I once kissed and pretend the least regard for me? Cynthia recoils and looks away. Her own feelings are revealed to her clearly for the first time. I begin to understand our American women now. Fire flies. And the fire they gleam with is so cold that a midge couldn't warm his heart at it let alone a man. You're not of the same race as a man. You married me for nothing divorced me for nothing because you are nothing. Jack. What are you saying? What? You feigning and interested me. Feigning a lie. And in five minutes. With a gesture indicating the altar. Oh. You've taught me the trick of your sex. You're the woman who is not a woman. You're saying terrible things to me. You haven't been divorced from me long enough to forget. What you should be ashamed to remember. I don't know what you mean. You're not able to forget me. You know you're not able to forget me. Ask yourself if you're able to forget me. And when your heart, such as it is, answers no, then… The organ is plainly heard. Well then, prance gaily up to the altar and marry that, if you can. He abruptly quits the room and Cynthia, moving to an armchair, sinks into it trembling. Matthew comes in and is joined by Miss Hennage and Philip. They do not see Cynthia buried deeply in her chair. Accordingly Miss Hennage moves over to the sofa and waits. They are all dressed for an evening reception and Philip is in the traditional bridegroom's rig. I am sure you will do your part, Sarah, in a spirit of Christian decorum. It was impossible to find my surplus, Philip, but the more informal, the better. Where's Cynthia? Matthew gives a glance around the room. Ah, here's the choir. He moves forward to meet it. Our boys come in very orderly, divide and take their places, and even number on each side of the altar of flowers. Matthew vaguely super-intends. Philip gets in the way of the bell and moves out of the way. Thomas comes in. Thomas, I directed you. One moment, if you please. He indicates the tables and chairs which Thomas hastens to push against the wall. Where's Cynthia? Cynthia rises and, at the movement, Philip sees her and moves toward her. The organ grows suddenly silent. Here I am. Matthew comes down. Organ plays softly. 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 and of strife. Oh, bless this happy man and wife. I'm afraid you feel, ah, ah... I feel awfully queer. I think I need a scotch. Organ stops. Philip remains uneasily at a little distance. Mrs. Fillmore and Grace enter back slowly, as cheerfully as if they were going to hear the funeral service read. They remain near the doorway. Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity, I mean, ceremony of this, this unique occasion, there should be sufficient exhilaration. But there isn't. One week she sits down. I don't think my bishop would approve of, ah, anything before. I feel very queer. My dear child. However, I suppose there's nothing for it, now, but to, to... Courage. 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. My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. Ah, that's it, nature. Matthew shakes his head. I have a great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck. 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. Ready. Ready. Ready. Cynthia, you will take Miss Henneage's arm. Henneage moves stiffly nearer to the table. Sarah. He waves Miss Henneage 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 hand so you begin enduring love, sweet end of strife, etc. Cynthia has risen. 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 Henneage, with the silent air of a martyr, goes toward her and stands for a moment looking at her. The ceremony will now begin. The organ plays Mendelssohn's wedding march. Cynthia turns and faces Miss Henneage. Miss Henneage slowly reaches Cynthia and extends her hand in her readiness to lead the bride to the altar. Mrs. Carslake. Ahem. Matthew walks forward two or three steps. Cynthia stands as if turned to stone. My dear Cynthia, I request you to take your place. Cynthia moves one or two steps as if to go up to the altar. She takes Miss Henneage's hand and slowly they walk toward Matthew. Your husband-to-be is ready. The ring is in my pocket. I have only to ask you the necessary questions and all will be blissfully over in a moment. The organ grows louder. Cynthia at this moment, just as she reaches Philip, stops, faces round, looks him, Matthew, and the rest in the face, and cries out in despair. Thomas! Call a handsome! Thomas goes out, leaving the door open. Miss Henneage crosses the room quickly. Mrs. Fillemore, shocked into action, rises. Cynthia catches up her cloak from the table. Philip turns and Cynthia comes forward and stops. I can't. Philip, I can't. Whistle of handsome is heard off. The organ stops. It is simply a case of throwing the reins on nature's neck, up anchor and sit tight. Matthew moves to Cynthia. Matthew, don't come near me. Yes, yes, I distrust you. It's your business and you'd marry me if you could. Philip, watching her in dismay as she throws on her cloak. Where are you going? I'm going to Jack. What for? To stop his marrying Vita. I'm blowing a hurricane inside, a horrible happy hurricane. I know myself. I know what's the matter with me. If I married you and Miss Henneage, what's the use of talking about it? He mustn't marry that woman. She shan't. Cynthia has now all her wraps on and walks toward the door rapidly. To Philip. Sorry. So long. Good night and see you later. Reaching the door she goes out in blind haste and without further ceremony. Matthew, in absolute amazement, throws up his arms. Philip is rigid. Mrs. Fillimore sinks into a chair. Miss Henneage stands supercilious and unmoved. It's the same. The choir, at Matthew's gesture, mistakes it for the concerted signal and bursts lustily into the epithalamus. Enduring love, sweet end of strife, O bless this happy man and wife. End of Act Three. Act Four of The New York Idea by Langdon Mitchell. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Four. Scene. The scene is laid in John Carzlik's study and smoking room. There is a bay window on the left. A door on the left leads to stairs and the front of the house, while a door at the back leads to the dining room. A fireplace and a mantel are on the right. A bookcase contains law and sporting books. On the wall is a full-length portrait of Cynthia. Everything of this portrait is seen by audience except the guilt frame and a space of canvas. A large table with writing materials is littered over with law books, sporting books, papers, pipes, crops, a pair of spurs, etc. A wedding ring lies on it. There are three very low, easy chairs. The general appearance of the room is extremely gay and garish in color. It has the easy confusion of a man's room. There is a small table on which, line-open, is a woman's sewing basket and, beside it, a piece of rich, fancy work, as if a lady had just risen from sewing. Layed on the further end of it are a lady's gloves. On a chair back is a lady's hat. It is half an hour later than the close of Act Three. Curtains are drawn over the window. A lamp on the table is lighted, as are two the various electric lights. One chair is conspicuously standing on its head. Nogum is busy at the larger table. The door into the dining-room is half open. Sir Wilfred, coming in from the dining-room. Eh? What did you say your name was? Nogum, sir. Nogum? I've been here thirty minutes. Where are the cigars? Nogum motions to a small table near the entrance door. Thank you, Nogum. Mr. Carsleg was to have followed us here immediately. He lights a cigar. Mr. Carsleg just now phoned from his club, and he's on his way home, sir. Nogum, why is that chair upside down? Our orders, sir. Vita speaking as she comes in. Oh, Wilfred! Sir Wilfred turns. Vita coming slowly toward him. I can't be left longer alone with the lobster. He reminds me too much of Philomore. Carsleg's come in, stopped at his club on the way. To Nogum. You haven't heard anything of Mrs. Carsleg? No, sir. Sir Wilfred in an aside to Vita as they move right to appear to be out of Nogum's hearing. Juicidly odd, you know, for the Rev. Matthew declared she'd left Philomore's house before he did, and she told them she was coming here. Nogum evidently takes this in. Oh, she'll turn up. Yes, but I don't see how the Rev. Philomore had the time to get here and make us man and wife, don't you know? Oh, Matthew had a fast horse, and Cynthia a slow one, or she's a woman and changed her mind. Perhaps she's gone back and married Philomore. And besides, dear, Matthew wasn't in the house four minutes and a half, only just long enough to hoop the hoop. She twirls her new wedding-ring gently about her finger. Wasn't it lucky he had a ring in his pocket? Oh, rather. And are you aware, dear, that Philomore bought and intended it for Cynthia? Do come. Going toward the door through which she has just entered. I'm desperately hungry. Whenever I'm married, that's the effect it has. Vita goes out, and Sir Wilfred following stops to talk to Nogum. We'll give Mr. Carslake ten minutes, Nogum. If he does not come then, you might serve supper. He joins Vita. Yes, sir. The outside door opens, and Fiddler walks in. Hello, Nogum. Where's the governor? That mares off her oats, and I've got to see him. He'll soon be here. It was the past, and I'll meet leaving the house. Sir Wilfred and Mrs. Philomore have a date with the governor in the dining-room, and the reverend gentleman. He makes a gesture as of giving an ecclesiastical blessing. He hasn't spliced them. Nogum ascents. He has. They're married. They never saw a person could resist it. Yes, but I've got another piece of news for you. Who do you think the reverend Philomore expected to find here? Mrs. Carslake. I saw her edit this way in an ensign with a book he also only a minute ago. If she hoped to be in it at the finish... Fiddler is about to set the chair on its legs. Mr. Fiddler, sir, please let it alone. Fiddler putting the chair down in surprise. Does he live on its blooming head? Don't you remember? She threw it on its head when she left here, and he won't have it up. Ah, that's it. Hat, sewing basket and all. The whole rig is to remain as it was when she handed him his knockout. A bell rings outside. It's governor, or a rim. I'll serve the supper. Taking the letter from his pocket and putting it on the mantle. Mr. Fiddler, would you mind giving this to the governor? It's from his lawyer. His lawyer couldn't find him and left it with me. He said it was very important. The bell rings again, speaking from the door to Sir Wilfred. I'm coming, sir. Nogum goes out, shutting the door. John Carslake comes in. His hat is pushed over his eyes, his hands are buried in his pockets, and his appearance generally is one of weariness and utter discouragement. He walks into the room slowly and heavily. He sees Fiddler, who salutes, forgetting the letter. John slowly sinks into the armchair near his study table. Hello, Fiddler. I came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia Kay. Damn Cynthia Kay. Couldn't have a word with you. No. Yes, sir. Fiddler? Yes, sir. Mrs. Carslake? Fiddler nods. You used to say she was our mascot? Yes, sir. Well, she's just married herself. She was sort of a... man. Sorry to hear it, sir. Well, Fiddler, between you and me, we're a pair of idiots. Yes, sir. And now it's too late. Yes, sir. I'll beg your pardon, sir. Your lawyer left a letter. John takes the letter, opens it, and reads it indifferently at first. What's he got to say more than what his wire said, eh? Dumb found it as he reads. What? We'll explain error in wording of telegram. Call me up. Turning quickly to the telephone. That can't mean that she's still... Hello? Hello? John listens. Would like to have a word with you, sir? Hello, central? That mayor? John, consulting the letter and speaking into the phone. 3-3-2-4-6-A-38, did you get it? That mayor, sir. She's got a touch of malaria. Hello, central? 3-3-2-4-6-A-38. Clayton Ozgood? Yes. Yes, and say, central, get a move on you. If you think well of it, sir, I'll give her a tonic. Hello? Yes? Yes? Jack Karslick? Is that you, Clayton? Yes? Yes? Well? Or if you'd like, sir, I'll give her... Shut up! To phone. What was that? Not you, not you. A technical error. You mean to say that Mrs. Karslick is still my... Hold the wire, central. Get off the wire! Get off the wire! Is that you, Clayton? Yes, yes. She and I are still... I got it. Goodbye. He hangs up the receiver, falls back into a chair. For a moment, he is overcome. He takes up telephone book. Oh, very well, Mr. Karslick. But I must know if I'm to give her... What's Filimore's number? If you've no objections, I think I'll give her a... L-M-N-O-P-U-T! It's too late! She's married by this! Married! And... my God! I... I am the cause! Filimore! I'll give her... Give her Wheela! Give her Grape Nuts! Give her away! Or they'd be quiet! Filimore! Sir Wilfred comes in. Hello. We'd almost given you up. Just a moment. I'm trying to get Filimore on the phone to... to tell Mrs. Karslick... No good, my boy. She's on her way here. John drops the book and looks at Dom found it. The Reverend Matthew was here, you see, and he said... Mrs. Karslick is coming here? Sir Wilfred nods. To this house? Here? That's right. Coming here? You're sure? Sir Wilfred nods assent. Fiddler, I want you to stay here, and if Mrs. Karslick comes, don't fail to let me know. Now, for heaven's sake, what did Matthew say to you? Come along in, and I'll tell you. On your life now, Fiddler, don't fail to let me... Sir Wilfred carries John off with him, Vida from the dining room. Ah, here you are. Phew! A moment's pause, and Cynthia opens the front door and comes in very quietly, almost shyly, as if she were uncertain of her welcome. Fiddler, where is he? Has he come? Is he here? Has he gone? Nobody's gone, Mum, except the Reverend Matthew Filimore. Matthew? He's been here and gone? Fiddler nods assent. You don't mean I'm too late. He's married them already? Nogum says he's married them. He's married them? Married? Married before I could get here? Sinking into an armchair. Married in less time than it takes to pray for rain? No, well, the church. The church is a regular quick marriage counter. Vida and John are heard in a light-hearted laughter. Oh! I'll tell Mr. Karslick. Cynthia, rising and going to the dining-room door, turns the key in the lock and takes it out. No, I wouldn't see him for the world. If I'm too late, I'm too late, and that's the end of it. I've come, and now I'll go. There is a long pause during which Cynthia looks slowly about the room, then sighs and changes her tone. Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as it used to be in my day. Now, Mum, everything changed. Even the osis. Horses? How are the horses? Ah, when husband and wife splits, Mum, it's the osis that suffer. Oh, yes, Mum. We're all changed since you give us the go-by, even the governor. How's he changed? Lost his shirt for osis and ladies, Mum. Gives them both the boiled eye. I can't say I see any change. There's my portrait. I suppose he sits and pulls faces at me. Yes, Mum. I think I'd better tell him you've been here. No, Fiddler, no. The room's in a terrible state of disorder. However, your new mistress will attend to that. Why, that's not her hat. Yours, Mum. Mine. Walking to the table to look at it. Is that my work basket? My gloves? Fiddler, a sense. And I suppose... Her idly going to the writing table. My, yes, there it is, my wedding ring. Just where I dropped it. Oh. Oh, oh, he keeps it like this. Hat, gloves, basket, and ring, everything just as it was that crazy mad day when I... She glances at Fiddler and breaks off. But for heaven's sake, Fiddler, set that chair on its feet. Against orders, Mum? Against orders. You kicked it over, Mum. The day you left us. No wonder he hates me with the chair in that state. He nurses his wrath to keep it warm. So after all, Fiddler, everything is changed and that chair is the proof of it. I suppose Cynthia Kay is the only thing in the world that cares a winnie whether I'm alive or dead. She breaks down and sobs. How is she, Fiddler? Off her oats, Mum, this evening. Off her oats. Well, she loves me, so I suppose she will die or change or something. Oh, she'll die, there's no doubt about that. She'll die. Fiddler, who has been watching his chance, takes the key off the table while she is sobbing. She goes upstage, unlocks the door and goes out. After he is done so, Cynthia rises and dries her eyes. There, I'm a fool. I must go before—before he— As she speaks her last word, John comes in swiftly. Mrs. Carr's like— I—I—I just heard Cynthia Kay was ill. I—I ran round and I—oh, well, I understand it's all over. Yes, it's all over. How's the bride? Oh, she's a wonder. Indeed. Did she paw the ground like the war-horse in the Bible? I'm sure when Vida sees a wedding-ring she smells the battle far off. As for you, my dear Carr's leg, I should have thought once bitten, twice shy. But you know best. Vida, unable to keep her finger long out of a pie, saunters in. Oh, Cynthia, I've just been through it again and I feel as if I were eighteen. It's no use talking about it, my dear, with a woman it's never the second time. And how nice you were, Jack. He never even laughed at us. Sir Wilfred follows her with hat and cane. Vida kisses John. That's the wages of virtue. Sir Wilfred in time to see her kiss John. I say. Is it the custom? Every time she does that, my boy, you owe me a thousand pounds. In Cynthia, who approaches them, he looks at her and John in turn. Mrs. Carr's leg? To John. And then you say it's not an extraordinary country. Cynthia is more and more puzzled. See you next, Darby Jack. Walking to the door, to Sir Wilfred. Come along, Wilfred. We really ought to be going. To Cynthia. I hope, dear, you haven't married him. Philomore's a tomb. Goodbye, Cynthia. I'm so happy. As she goes. Just think of the silly people, dear, that only have this sensation once in a lifetime. John follows Vida out the door. Goodbye, Mrs. Carr's leg. And I say, you know, if you have married that dull old Philomore fella, why, when you've divorced him, come over and stay and train him. I mean, of course you know, bring your new husband. There'll be lots of horses to show you and a whole covey of jolly little case, Darby's. Mind you, come. Never liked a woman as much as in my life as I did you. Wilfred, dear. Except the one that's calling me. John returns and Sir Wilfred nodding to him goes out. John shuts the door and crosses the room. There is a pause. So you're not married? No. But I know that you imagined I was. I suppose you think a woman has no right to divorce a man and still continue to feel a keen interest in his affairs? Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see how— A woman can be divorced and still— John, a sense. She hides her embarrassment. Well, my dear Carr's leg, you've a long life before you in which to learn how such a state of mind is possible, so I won't stop to explain. Will you be kind enough to get me a cab? She moves to the door. Really? I was going to say, I'm not surprised that you're feeling an interest in me. I'm only astonished that having actually married Philomorrie came here. I'm not married to him. I left you on the brink, made me feel a little uncertain. I changed my mind, that's all. Of course. Are you going to marry him? I don't know. Does he know you— I told him I was coming here. Oh! He'll turn up here then, eh? And you'll go back with him, I suppose. Oh, yes, I suppose so. I—I haven't thought much about it. Well, I'll sit down, do. Till he comes, talk it over. He places the armchair more comfortably for her. No, this is a more comfortable chair. You never liked me to sit in that one. Oh, well, it's different now. Cynthia moves and sits down near the upset chair. There is a long pause during which John thoughtfully paces the room. You don't mind if I smoke? No. Of course, if you find my presence painful, I'll skidoo. He indicates the door. Cynthia shakes her head. John smokes his pipe and remains seated. It's just simply a fact, Cars Lake, and that's all there is to it. If a woman has once been married—that is, the first man she marries—then she may quarrel, she may hate him, she may despise him, but she'll always be jealous of him with other women. Always. Hmm. Oh. Hmm. Yes. Yes. You probably felt jealous of Phyllis more. No. I felt simply. Let him take his medicine. Oh. I beg your pardon. I meant— You meant what you said. Mrs. Cars Lake, I apologize. I won't do it again. But it's too late for you to be out alone. Philip will be here in a moment, and, of course, then. It isn't what you say. It's everything. It's the entire situation. Suppose by any chance I don't marry Phyllis more, and suppose I were seen at two or three in the morning leaving my former husband's house. It's all wrong. I have no business to be here. I'm going. You're perfectly horrid to me, you know, and the whole place, it's so familiar and so—so associated with—with— Discord and misery. I know. Not at all with discord and misery, with harmony and happiness, with—with first love and infinite hope and—and, Jack Cars Lake, if you don't set that chair on its legs, I think I'll explode. John crosses the room rapidly and sets the chair on its legs. His tone changes. Ah, there. I beg your pardon. I believe I hear Philip. No. That's the policeman trying the front door. And now, see here, Mrs. Cars Lake. You're only here for a short minute, because you can't help yourself. But I want you to understand that I'm not trying to be disagreeable. I don't want to revive all the old unhappy— Very well, if you don't, give me my hat, and my sewing, and my gloves, please. She indicates the several articles which lie on the small table. Thanks. Cynthia throws the lot into the fireplace and returns to the place she has left near the table. There, I feel better, and now all I ask is— My stars, what a pleasure it is. What is? Being you in a whirlwind. Oh. No, but I mean a real pleasure. Why not? Times passed since you and I were together, and it— And you've forgotten what a vile temper I had. Well, you did kick the stuffing out of the matrimonial buggy. It wasn't a buggy, it was a break cart. It's all very well to blame me, but when you married me I'd never had a bit in my mouth. Well, I guess I had a pretty hard hand. Do you remember the time you threw both your slippers out the window? Yes, and do you remember the time you took my fan from me by force? After you slapped my face with it. Oh, I hardly touched your face, and do you remember the day you held my wrists? You're going to bite me. Jack, I never. I showed my teeth at you, and I said I would bite you. Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word. And anyhow, they were awfully pretty teeth. And I say, do you remember sin? You oughtn't to call me sin. It's not nice of you. It's sort of cruel. I'm not sin to you now. Awfully sorry. Didn't mean to be beastly, sin. Cynthia turns quickly. John stamps his foot. Cynthia! Sorry, I'll make it a commandment. Thou shalt not sin. Cynthia laughs and wipes her eyes. How can you, Jack? How can you? Well, hang it, my dear child. I'm sorry, but you know I always got foolish with you. Your laugh would make a horse laugh. Why, don't you remember that morning in the park before breakfast? When you laughed so hard, your horse ran away with you? I do, I do. Both laugh. The door opens, and Nogum comes in, unnoticed by either. But what was it started me laughing? That morning, wasn't it somebody we met? Wasn't it a man on a horse? Of course. You didn't know him in those days, but I did. And he looked a sight in the saddle. Nogum trying to catch their attention moves toward the table. Who was it? Fillimor. He's no laughing matter now. Seen Nogum. Jack, he's here. Eh? Oh, Nogum? Mr. Fillimor, sir. In the house? On the street in a handsome, sir. And he requests Miss Carslake. That'll do, Nogum. Nogum goes out, and there is a pause. John, on his way to the window, looks at Cynthia, who has slowly risen and turned her back to him. Well, Cynthia? Well? It's the hour of decision. Are you going to marry him? Speak up! Jack, I... I... There he is. You can join him. Join Fillimor, and go home, with him into his house, and Miss Hennage and... The door's open. No. No, it's mean of you to suggest it. You won't marry? Fillimor. No. Never. Running to the window. No. Never, never, Jack. John opening the window and calling out. It's all right, Judge. You needn't wait. There is a pause. John leaves the window and bursts into laughter. He moves toward the door and closes it. Cynthia looks dazed. Jack! John laughs. Yes, but I'm here, Jack. Why not? You'll have to take me round to the Holland House. Of course I will, but I say, Cynthia, there's no hurry. Why, I... I can't stay here. No, of course you can't stay here, but you can have a bite, though. Cynthia shakes her head. John places the small chair, which was upset, next to the table and the armchair close by. Oh, I insist. Just look at yourself. Yours pale as a sheet. Here, here. Sit right down. I insist. By George, you must do it. Cynthia moves to the chair drawn up to the table and sits down. I am hungry. Just wait a moment. John rushes out, leaving the door open. I don't want more than a nibble. I am sorry to give you so much trouble. No trouble at all. From the dining room comes the cheerful noise of glasses and silver. A handsome, of course, to take you round to your hotel. I wonder how I ever dreamed I could marry that man. Can't imagine. There. I am hungry. Don't forget the handsome. She eats. He waits on her, setting this and that before her. John goes to the door, opens it, and calls. Nogum, a handsome at once. Yes, sir. How does it go? It goes all right. Thanks. You used to like her, didn't you, Claire? Cynthia shakes her head. Oh, but you must. Ever so little. She fills her glass and then his. Thanks. Here's to old times. Please not. Well, here's to your next husband. Don't. Oh, well then, what shall the toast be? I'll tell you. You can drink to the relation I am to you. Well, what relation are you? I'm your first wife once removed. I say, you're feeling better. Lots. It's a good deal like those mornings after the races, isn't it? Yes. Is that the handsome? Nope. What is that sound? Don't you remember? No. That's the rumbling of the early milk wagons. Oh, Jack. Do you recognize it now? Do I? We used to hear that. Just at the hour, didn't we? When we came back from awfully jolly late suppers and things. It must be fearfully late. I must go. She rises and moves to the chair where she has left her cloak. She sees that John will not help her and puts it on herself. I don't go. Why go? All good things come to an end, you know. They don't need to. Oh, you don't mean that. And you know, Jack, if I were caught, seen at this hour leaving this house, you know, it's the most scandalous thing anyone ever did my being here at all. Goodbye, Jack. I would like to say, I, I, I, well, I shan't be bitter about you hereafter and thank you awfully old man for the fodder and all that. She turns to go out. Mrs. Carr is like, wait. Well? I've rather an ugly bit of news for you. Yes? I don't believe you know that I've been testing the validity of the decree of divorce which you procured. Oh, have you? Yes. You know, I felt pretty warmly about it. Well? Well, I've been successful. The decree's been declared invalid. Uh, understand? Not precisely. I'm awfully sorry. I'm awfully sorry, Cynthia, but you're my wife still. Honor bright? Crazy country, isn't it? Well, Jack, what's to be done? Whatever you say. Nogum quietly coming in. Handsome, sir. She goes out and Cynthia rises. Why don't you finish your supper? The, the handsome. Why go to the Holland? After all, you know, Senor, at home here. No, Jack, I'm not. I'm not at home here, unless, unless... Out with it? Unless I, unless I'm at home in your heart, Jack. What do you think? I don't believe you want me to stay. Don't you? No, no, you hate me still. You can never forgive me. I know you can't, for I can never forgive myself. Never, Jack. Never, never. She sobs and he takes her in his arms. Sen, I love you, and you've got to stay. And hereafter you can chuck chairs around till all's blue. Not a word now. He draws her gently to a chair. Oh, Jack. Jack. I'm as hungry as a shark. We'll nibble together. Well, all I can say is, I feel that of all the improprieties I ever committed this, this. This takes the claret, eh? Oh, Lord, how happy I am! Now don't say that. You'll make me cry more. She wipes her eyes. John takes out the wedding ring from his pocket. He lifts a wine glass, drops the ring into it, and offers her the glass. Cynthia. What is it? Benedictine. Well, you know I never take it. Take this one for my sake. That's not benedictine. What is it? John slides the ring out of the glass and puts his arm about Cynthia. He slips the ring onto her finger and, as he kisses her hand, says, Your wedding ring! End of Act Four End of The New York Idea by Langdon Mitchell