YNTHIA, _who has walked away._] Good-night, Mrs.
Karslake, I'm going; I'm sorry I came.

CYNTHIA. Sorry? Why are you sorry? [JOHN _looks at her; she winces a
little._] You've got what you wanted. [_After a pause._] I wouldn't
mind your marrying Vida--

JOHN. [_Gravely._] Oh, wouldn't you?

CYNTHIA. But I don't think you showed good taste in engaging
yourselves _here_.

JOHN. Of course, I should have preferred a garden of roses and plenty
of twilight.

CYNTHIA. [_Rushing into speech._] I'll tell you what you _have_
done--you've thrown yourself away! A woman like that! No head, no
heart! All languor and loose--loose frocks--she's the typical, worst
thing America can do! She's the regular American marriage worm!

JOHN. I have known others--

CYNTHIA. [_Quickly._] Not me. I'm not a patch on that woman. Do you
know anything about her life? Do you know the things she did to
Philip? Kept him up every night of his life--forty days out of every
thirty--and then, without his knowing it, put brandy in his coffee to
make him lively at breakfast.

JOHN. [_Banteringly._] I begin to think she is just the woman--

CYNTHIA. [_Unable to quiet her jealousy._] She is _not_ the woman for
_you_! A man with your bad temper--your airs of authority--your
assumption of--of--everything. What you need is a good, old-fashioned,
bread-poultice woman!

[CYNTHIA _comes to a full stop and faces him._

JOHN. [_Sharply._] Can't say I've had any experience of the good
old-fashioned bread-poultice.

CYNTHIA. I don't care what you say! If you marry Vida Phillimore--you
sha'n't do it. [_Tears of rage choking her._] No, I liked your father
and, for _his_ sake, I'll see that his son doesn't make a donkey of
himself a second time.

JOHN. [_Too angry to be amused._] Oh, I thought I was divorced. I
begin to feel as if I had you on my hands still.

CYNTHIA. You have! You shall have! If you attempt to marry her, I'll
follow you--and I'll find her--I'll tell Vida-- [_He turns to her._] I
will. I'll tell Vida just what sort of a dance you led me.

JOHN. [_Quickly on her last word but speaking gravely._] Indeed! Will
you? And why do you care what happens to me?

CYNTHIA. [_Startled by his tone._] I--I--ah--

JOHN. [_Insistently and with a faint hope._] _Why_ do you _care_?

CYNTHIA. I don't. Not in your sense--

JOHN. How dare you then pretend--

CYNTHIA. I don't pretend.

JOHN. [_Interrupting her; proud, serious and strong._] H