er, don't! But I shall
expect you, of course, at the ceremony. [MRS. PHILLIMORE _languidly
retires._ PHILIP _strides to the centre of the room, taking the tone,
and assuming the attitude of, the injured husband._] It is proper for
me to tell you that I followed you to Belmont. I am aware--I know with
whom--in fact, _I know all_! [_He punctuates his words with pauses,
and indicates the whole censorious universe._] And now let me assure
you--I am the last man in the world to be jilted on the very eve
of--of--everything with you. I won't be jilted. [CYNTHIA _is silent._]
You understand? I propose to marry you. I won't be made ridiculous.

CYNTHIA. [_Glancing at_ PHILIP.] Philip, I didn't mean to make you--

PHILIP. Why, then, did you run off to Belmont Park with that fellow?

CYNTHIA. Philip, I--eh--

PHILIP. [_Sitting down at the table._] What motive? What reason? On
our wedding day? Why did you do it?

CYNTHIA. I'll tell you the truth. I was bored.

PHILIP. [_Staggered._] Bored? In my company?

CYNTHIA. I was bored, and then--and besides, Sir Wilfrid asked me to
go.

PHILIP. Exactly, and that was why you went. Cynthia, when you promised
to marry me, you told me you had forever done with love. You agreed
that marriage was the rational coming together of two people.

CYNTHIA. I know, I know!

PHILIP. Do you believe that now?

CYNTHIA. I don't know what I believe. My brain is in a whirl! But,
Philip, I am beginning to be--I'm afraid--yes, I am afraid that one
can't just select a great and good man [_Indicating him._] and say: I
will be happy with him.

PHILIP. [_With complacent dignity._] I don't see why not. You must
assuredly do one or the other: You must either let your heart choose
or your head select.

CYNTHIA. [_Gravely._] No, there's a third scheme: Sir Wilfrid
explained the theory to me. A woman should marry whenever she has a
whim for the man, and then leave the rest to the man. Do you see?

PHILIP. [_Furious._] Do I see? Have I ever seen any thing else? Marry
for whim! That's the New York idea of marriage.

CYNTHIA. [_Observing cynically._] New York ought to know.

PHILIP. Marry for whim and leave the rest to the divorce court! Marry
for whim and leave the rest to the man. That was the former Mrs.
Phillimore's idea. Only she spelled "whim" differently; she omitted
the "w." [_He rises in his anger._] And now you--_you_ take up with
this preposterous-- [CYNTHIA _moves uneasily._] But, nonsense! I