I mean Philip--he's asking for you over the 'phone.
You must have said you were coming here. Of course, I told him you
were not here, and hung up.

BENSON. [_Entering hurriedly and at once moving to_ VIDA.] Ma'am, the
new footman's been talking with Mr. Phillimore on the wire. [VIDA,
_gesture of regret._] He told Mr. Phillimore that his lady was here,
and, if I can believe my ears, ma'am, he's got Sir Wilfrid on the
'phone now!

SIR WILFRID. [_Making his appearance, perplexed and annoyed._] I say,
y' know--extraordinary country; that old chap, Phillimore, he's been
damned impertinent over the wire! Says I've run off with Mrs.
Karslake--talks about "Louise!" Now, who the dooce is Louise? He's
comin' round here, too--I said Mrs. Karslake wasn't here-- [_Seeing_
CYNTHIA.] Hello! Good job! What a liar I am!

BENSON. [_Coming to the door. To_ VIDA.] Mr. Fiddler, ma'am, says the
mare is gettin' very restive.

[JOHN _hears this and moves at once_. BENSON _withdraws._

JOHN. [_To_ VIDA.] If that mare's restive, she'll break out in a rash.

VIDA. [_To_ JOHN.] Will you take me?

JOHN. Of course. [_They go to the door._

CYNTHIA. [_To_ JOHN.] Tata, old man! Meet you at the altar! If I
don't, the mare's mine!

[SIR WILFRID _looks at her amazed._

VIDA. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] Do the honours, dear, in my absence!

JOHN. Come along, come along, never mind them! A horse is a horse!

JOHN _and_ VIDA _go out gaily and in haste. At the same
moment_ CYNTHIA _drinks what she supposes to be her glass of
plain soda. As it is whiskey straight, she is seized with
astonishment and a fit of coughing._ SIR WILFRID _relieves
her of the glass._

SIR WILFRID. [_Indicating the contents of the glass._] I say, do you
ordinarily take it as high up--as seven fingers and two thumbs.

CYNTHIA. [_Coughing._] Jack poured it out. Just shows how groggy he
was! And now, Sir Wilfrid--

[_She gets her things to go._

SIR WILFRID. Oh, you can't go!

[BROOKS _appears at the door._

CYNTHIA. I am to be married at three.

SIR WILFRID. Let him wait. [_Aside to_ BROOKS, _whom he meets near the
door._] If Mr. Phillimore comes, bring his card up.

BROOKS. [_Going._] Yes, Sir Wilfrid.

SIR WILFRID. To me! [_Tipping him._

BROOKS. [_Bowing._] To you, Sir Wilfrid. [BROOKS _goes._

SIR WILFRID. [_Returning to_ CYNTHIA.] I've got to have my innings, y'
know! [_Looking at her more closely._] I sa