Miss Heneage. Sister, it is high time that you—
[She turns to Cynthia with a gesture.
Cynthia. [With quiet irony.] Mrs. Phillimore is generally asleep at this hour, and accordingly she will not venture to express—
Sudley. [Spluttering with irritation.] Enough, madam—I venture to—to—to—to say, you are leading a fast life.
Cynthia. [With powerful intention.] Not in this house! For six heavy weeks have I been laid away in the grave, and I've found it very slow indeed trying to keep pace with the dead!
Sudley. [Despairingly.] This comes of horses!
Cynthia. [Indignant.] Of what?
Sudley. C-c-caring for horses!
Miss Heneage. [With sublime morality.] What Mrs. Karslake cares for is—men.
Cynthia. [Angry and gay.] What would you have me care for? The Ornithorhyncus Paradoxus? or Pithacanthropus Erectus? Oh, I refuse to take you seriously. [Sudley begins to prepare to leave; he buttons himself into respectability and his coat.