se. [_He indicates the tables and chairs which_ THOMAS
_hastens to push against the wall._

PHILIP. [_Walking forward and looking around him._] Where's Cynthia?
[CYNTHIA _rises, and, at the movement_, PHILIP _sees her and moves
toward her. The organ grows suddenly silent._

CYNTHIA. [_Faintly._] Here I am.

[MATTHEW _comes down. Organ plays softly._

MATTHEW. [_To_ CYNTHIA.] 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 end of strife!
Oh, bless this happy man and wife!"

I'm afraid you feel--eh--eh!

CYNTHIA. [_Desperately calm._] I feel awfully queer--I think I need a
scotch.

_Organ stops._ PHILIP _remains uneasily at a little
distance._ MRS. PHILLIMORE _and_ GRACE _enter back slowly, as
cheerfully as if they were going to hear the funeral service
read. They remain near the doorway._

MATTHEW. Really, my dear, in the pomp and vanity--I mean--ceremony of
this--this unique occasion, there should be sufficient exhilaration.

CYNTHIA. [_With extraordinary control._] But there isn't!

[_Feeling weak, she sits down._

MATTHEW. I don't think my Bishop would approve of--eh--anything
_before_!

CYNTHIA. [_Too agitated to know how much she is moved._] I feel very
queer.

MATTHEW. [_Piously sure that everything is for the best._] My dear
child--

CYNTHIA. However, I suppose there's nothing for it--now--but--to--to--

MATTHEW. Courage!

CYNTHIA. [_Desperate and with a sudden explosion._] 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!

MATTHEW. My dear, your indisposition is the voice of nature. [CYNTHIA
_speaks more rapidly and with growing excitement._ MATTHEW _makes a
movement toward the_ CHOIR BOYS.

CYNTHIA. Ah,--that's it--nature! [MATTHEW _shakes his head._] I've a
great mind to throw the reins on nature's neck.

PHILIP. 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._

CYNTHIA. [_To herself, as if at bay._] Ready? Ready? Ready?

MATTHEW. Cynthia, you will take Miss Heneage's arm. [MISS HENEAGE
_moves stiffly nearer to the table._] Sarah! [_He waves_ MISS HENEAGE
_in the direction of_ CYNTHIA, _at which she advances a joyless step
or two._ MATTHEW _goes