st despise in all the world, is reading poetry to
the woman who--who got me into the fix I'm in!

SIR WILFRID. [_Leaning over her chair._] What do you want to look at
'em for? [CYNTHIA _moves._] Let 'em be and listen to me! Sit down; for
damme, I'm determined.

CYNTHIA. [_Now at the table and half to herself._] I won't look at
them! I won't think of them. Beasts! [SIR WILFRID _interposes between
her and her view of_ JOHN. THOMAS _opens the door and walks in._

SIR WILFRID. Now, then-- [_He sits down._

CYNTHIA. 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?

THOMAS. Mr. Phillimore's excuses, ma'am. In a very short time--
[THOMAS _goes out._

SIR WILFRID. I'm on to you! You hoped for more buttons!

CYNTHIA. I'm dying of the heat; fan me.

[SIR WILFRID _fans_ CYNTHIA.

SIR WILFRID. Heat! No! You're dying because you're ignorin' nature.
Certainly you are! You're marryin' Phillimore! [CYNTHIA _appears
faint._] Can't ignore nature, Mrs. Karslake. Yes, you are; you're
forcin' your feelin's. [CYNTHIA _glances at him._] 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! [CYNTHIA _moves and shakes her head._] So
just throw the reins on nature's neck, jump this fellow Phillimore and
marry me!

[_He leans toward_ CYNTHIA.

CYNTHIA. [_Naturally, but with irritation._] You propose to me here,
at a moment like this? When I'm on the last lap--just in sight of the
goal--the gallows--the halter--the altar, I don't know what its name
is! No, I won't have you! [_Looking toward_ KARSLAKE _and_ VIDA.] And
I won't have you stand near me! I won't have you talking to me in a
low tone! [_Her eyes glued on_ JOHN _and_ VIDA.] Stand over
there--stand where you are.

SIR WILFRID. I say--

CYNTHIA. I can hear you--I'm listening!

SIR WILFRID. 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--

CYNTHIA. Marry you? I don't even know you!

SIR WILFRID. [_Feeling sure of being accepted._] Oh,--tell you all
about myself. I'm no duke in a pickle o' debts, d'ye see? I can marry
where I like. Some o' my countrymen are rotters, ye know. They'd marry
a monkey, if poppa-up-the-tree had a corner in cocoanuts! And they do
marry some queer ones, y' know. [CYNTHIA _looks beyond hi