ick up a book
and read to her._

SIR WILFRID. I've come back.

CYNTHIA. [_To_ SIR WILFRID.] Asks for air and goes to the greenhouse.
[CYNTHIA _crosses the room and_ SIR WILFRID _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--

SIR WILFRID. Mr. Phillimore?

CYNTHIA. [_Sharply._] No, Karslake. I'm just waiting to say the words
[THOMAS _comes in unnoticed._] "love, honour and obey" to
Phillimore-- [_Looking back._] and _at_ Karslake! [_Seeing_ THOMAS.]
What is it? Mr. Phillimore?

THOMAS. Mr. Phillimore 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_], but there's a button off his
waistcoat.

CYNTHIA. [_Rising. With irony._] Button off his waistcoat!

[THOMAS _goes out._

SIR WILFRID. [_Delightedly._] Ah! So much the better for me. [CYNTHIA
_looks into the other room._] Now, then, never mind those two!
[CYNTHIA _moves restlessly._] Sit down.

CYNTHIA. I can't.

SIR WILFRID. You're as nervous as--

CYNTHIA. 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
WILFRID, _noting this, grows uneasy._] And if some one doesn't do away
with those calla lilies--the odor makes me faint! [SIR WILFRID
_moves._] No, it's not the lilies! It's the orange blossoms!

SIR WILFRID. Orange blossoms.

CYNTHIA. The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the abyss!
[SIR WILFRID _promptly confiscates the vase of orange blossoms._] They
smell of six o'clock in the evening. When Philip's fallen asleep, and
little boys are crying the winners outside, and I'm crying inside, and
dying inside and outside and everywhere.

SIR WILFRID. [_Returning to her side._] Sorry to disappoint you.
They're artificial. [CYNTHIA _shrugs her shoulders._] That's it!
They're emblematic of artificial domesticity! And I'm here to help you
balk 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--

CYNTHIA. Do you think I can listen to you make love to me when the man
who--who--whom I mo