Cedric. (Picking up a dish off the table.) If you make one more joke, I'll smash every darned bit of crockery on this table. (Gesture of destruction.)
Flora. (Coldly.) Now if I agree to listen quietly and talk reasonably, it mustn't be understood that I'm open to argument. (Sits down.)
Cedric. All right, all right!
Flora. Because I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. The thing that's—that's really upset our applecart may seem perfectly childish to the unprejudiced outsider. But I don't propose to consult the unprejudiced outsider. Might as well take the case before a jury and engage a couple of K.C.'s. You know as well as I know that it isn't perfectly childish. It isn't childish at all. Its fundamental. We've been unlucky. But then in another sense we've been lucky. We're free. We aren't tied, thank Heaven. Man to man, Cedric, it would be too much humiliation—yes, humiliation—for me to marry anybody that looks on marriage as you look on it. And as it's just as impossible for you to change your opinion as it is for me to change mine, we shan't exactly go down to Colchester this morning.... More's the pity.
Cedric. Well, I have changed my opinion. So let's go.
Flora. You've changed your opinion? How have you changed your opinion?
Cedric. I've sat there all this blessed night thinking it over.
Flora. Really?
Cedric. Yes. Do you suppose I could sleep any more than you could? What do you take me for? The more I thought it over, the more I saw I'd been mistaken. Now—half a minute! I can't honestly blame myself, you know. And so I won't pretend to—especially as we're talking straight. I told you what I felt, right out, and then I offered to give way. I couldn't do anything else. Well, you wouldn't have that. Mind you, I think you were quite right in refusing to let me give way against my better judgment. I admire you for that even more than I did. But I don't give way now against my judgment—I give way with it.
Flora. But how has your judgment altered? Why?