Philip. You are ready to marry me?
Cynthia. [Twisting in the coils.] But you haven't had your dinner.
Philip. Do I understand you refuse?
Cynthia. Couldn't we defer—?
Philip. You refuse?
Cynthia. [Desperately thinking of an escape from her promise, and finding none.] No, I said I'd marry you. I'm a woman of my word. I will.
Philip. [Triumphant.] Ah! Very good, then. Run to your room. [Cynthia turns to Philip.] Throw something over you. In a half hour I'll expect you here! And Cynthia, my dear, remember! I cannot cuculate like a wood-pigeon, but—I esteem you!
Cynthia. [Hopelessly.] I think I'll go, Philip.
Philip. I may not be fitted to play the love-bird, but—
Cynthia. [Spiritlessly.] I think I'll go, Philip.