s we'll be at Belmont Park.

CYNTHIA. [_Her sporting blood fired._] Belmont Park!

SIR WILFRID. We'll do the races, and dine at Martin's--

CYNTHIA. [_Tempted._] Oh, if I only could! I can't! I've got to be
married! You're awfully nice; I've almost got a "w'im" for you
already.

SIR WILFRID. [_Delighted._] There you are! I'll send a telegram! [_She
shakes her head. He sits and writes at the table._

CYNTHIA. No, no, no!

SIR WILFRID. [_Reading what he has written._] "Off with Cates-Darby to
Races. Please postpone ceremony till seven-thirty."

CYNTHIA. Oh, no, it's impossible!

SIR WILFRID. [_Accustomed to have things go his way._] No more than
breathin'! You can't get a w'im for me, you know, unless we're
together, so together we'll be! [JOHN KARSLAKE _opens the door, and,
unnoticed, walks into the room._] And to-morrow you'll wake up with a
jolly little w'im--, [_Reading._] "Postpone ceremony till
seven-thirty." There. [_He puts on her cloak and turning, sees_ JOHN.]
Hello!

JOHN. [_Surly._] Hello! Sorry to disturb you.

SIR WILFRID. [_Cheerful as possible._] Just the man! [_Giving him the
telegraph form._] Just step round and send it, my boy. Thanks! [JOHN
_reads it._

CYNTHIA. No, no, I can't go!

SIR WILFRID. Cockety-coo-coo-can't. I say, you must!

CYNTHIA. [_Positively._] _No!_

JOHN. [_Astounded._] Do you mean you're going--

SIR WILFRID. [_Very gay._] Off to the races, my boy!

JOHN. [_Angry and outraged._] Mrs. Karslake can't go with you there!

CYNTHIA _starts, amazed at his assumption of marital
authority, and delighted that she will have an opportunity of
outraging his sensibilities._

SIR WILFRID. Oho!

JOHN. An hour before her wedding!

SIR WILFRID. [_Gay and not angry._] May I know if it's the custom--

JOHN. [_Jealous and disgusted._] It's worse than eloping--

SIR WILFRID. Custom, y' know, for the husband, that was, to dictate--

JOHN. [_Thoroughly vexed._] By George, there's a limit!

CYNTHIA. What? What? What? [_Gathering up her things._] What did I
hear you say?

SIR WILFRID. Ah!

JOHN. [_Angry._] I say there's a limit--

CYNTHIA. [_More and more determined to arouse and excite_ JOHN.] Oh,
there's a limit, is there?

JOHN. There is! I bar the way! It means reputation--it means--

CYNTHIA. [_Enjoying her opportunity._] We shall see what it means!

SIR WILFRID. Aha!

JOHN. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] I'm here to protect your reputation--

SIR WILFRID. [_To_ CY