JOHN. On your life now, Fiddler, don't fail to let me--

[SIR WILFRID _carries_ JOHN _off with him._

VIDA. [_From the dining-room._] Ah, here you are!

FIDDLER. Phew!

_A moment's pause, and_ CYNTHIA _opens the front door, and
comes in very quietly, almost shyly, as if she were uncertain
of her welcome._

CYNTHIA. Fiddler! Where is he? Has he come? Is he here? Has he gone?

FIDDLER. [_Rattled._] Nobody's gone, ma'am, except the Reverend
Matthew Phillimore.

CYNTHIA. Matthew? He's been here and gone? [FIDDLER _nods assent._]
You don't mean I'm too late? He's married them already?

FIDDLER. Nogam says he married them!

CYNTHIA. He's married them! Married! Married before I could get here!
[_Sinking into an armchair._] Married in less time than it takes to
pray for rain! Oh, well, the church--the church is a regular quick
marriage counter. [VIDA _and_ JOHN _are heard in light-hearted
laughter._] Oh!

FIDDLER. I'll tell Mr. Karslake--

CYNTHIA. [_Rising and going to the dining-room door, turns the key in
the lock and takes it out._] No--I wouldn't see him for the world!
[_Moving to the work-table with the key._] If I'm too late, I'm too
late! and that's the end of it! [_Laying the key on the table, she
remains standing near it._] I've come, and now I'll go! [_There is a
long pause during which_ CYNTHIA _looks slowly about the room, then
sighs and changes her tone._] Well, Fiddler, it's all a good deal as
it used to be in my day.

FIDDLER. No, ma'am--everything changed, even the horses.

CYNTHIA. [_Absent-mindedly._] Horses--how are the horses?

[_Throughout her talk with_ Fiddler _she gives the idea that
she is saying good-bye to her life with_ JOHN.

FIDDLER. Ah, when husband and wife splits, ma'am, it's the horses that
suffer. Oh, yes, ma'am, we're all changed since you give us the
go-by,--even the guv'nor.

CYNTHIA. How's he changed?

FIDDLER. Lost his sharp for horses, and ladies, ma'am--gives 'em both
the boiled eye.

CYNTHIA. I can't say I see any change; there's my portrait--I suppose
he sits and pulls faces at me.

FIDDLER. Yes, ma'am, I think I'd better tell him of your bein' here.

CYNTHIA. [_Gently but decidedly._] No, Fiddler, no! [_Again looking
about her._] The room's in a terrible state of disorder. However, your
new mistress will attend to that. [_Pause._] Why, that's not her hat!

FIDDLER. Yours, ma'am.

CYNTHIA. Mine? [_Walking to the table to l