to talk to_ KARSLAKE.] C. W.?

JOHN. [_Rising as she rises._] Creditors willing.

VIDA. [_Changing her seat for one near the tea-table._] I'm sure your
creditors are willing.

JOHN. Oh, they're a breezy lot, my creditors. They're giving me a
dinner this evening.

VIDA. [_More than usually anxious to please._] I regret I'm not a
breezy creditor, but I do think you owe it to me to let me see your
Cynthia K! Can't you lead her around to my house?

JOHN. At what hour, Mrs. Phillimore?

VIDA. Say eleven? And you, too, might have a leading in my
direction--771 Fifth Avenue.

[JOHN _bows._ CYNTHIA _hears and notes this._

CYNTHIA. Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.

JOHN. Thanks. [_Taking his tea and sipping it._] I beg your
pardon--you have forgotten, Mrs. Karslake--very naturally, it has
slipped your memory, but I don't take sugar. [CYNTHIA, _furious with
him and herself. He hands the cup back. She makes a second cup._

CYNTHIA. [_Cheerfully; in a rage._] Sorry!

JOHN. [_Also apparently cheerful._] Yes, gout. It gives me a twinge
even to sit in the shadow of a sugar-maple! First you riot, and then
you diet!

VIDA. [_Calm and amused; aside to_ MATTHEW.] My dear Matthew, he's a
darling! But I feel as if we were all taking tea on the slope of a
volcano! [MATTHEW _sits down._

PHILIP. It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to find a
purchaser for your portrait by Sargent?

JOHN. It's not _my_ portrait. It's a portrait of Mrs. Karslake, and to
tell you the truth--Sargent's a good fellow--I've made up my mind to
keep it--to remember the artist by.

[CYNTHIA _is wounded by this._

PHILIP. H'm!

[CYNTHIA _hands a second cup to_ JOHN.

CYNTHIA. [_With careful politeness._] Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.

JOHN. [_Rising and taking the tea with courteous indifference._]
Thanks--sorry to trouble you.

[_He drinks the cup of tea standing by the tea-table._

PHILIP. [_To make conversation._] You're selling your country place?

JOHN. If I was long of hair--I'd sell that.

CYNTHIA. [_Excited. Taken out of herself by the news._] You're not
really selling your stable?

JOHN. [_Finishes his tea, places the empty cup on the tea-table, and
reseats himself._] Every gelding I've got--seven foals and a donkey! I
don't mean the owner.

CYNTHIA. [_Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the
situation._] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper?