Cynthia. The only opinion that would have any weight with me would be Mrs. Phillimore's.
[She turns expectantly to Mrs. Phillimore.
Mrs. Phillimore. I am generally asleep at this hour, and, accordingly, I will not venture to express any—eh—any—actual opinion. [She fades away. Cynthia smiles.
Miss Heneage. [Coldly.] You smile. We simply inform you that as regards us, the alliance is not grateful.
Cynthia. [Affecting gaiety and unconcern.] And all this because the gasoline gave out.
Sudley. My patience has given out!
Grace. So has mine. I'm going.
[She makes good her word.
Sudley. [Vexed beyond civility. To Cynthia.] My dear young lady: You come here, to this sacred—eh—eh—spot—altar!— [Gesture.] odoriferous of the paddock!—speaking of Spiffles and Buckeye,—having practically eloped!—having created a scandal, and disgraced our family!
Cynthia. [Affecting surprise at this attitude.] How does it disgrace you? Because I like to see a high-bred, clean, nervy, sweet little four-legged gee play the antelope over a hurdle!