Sir Wilfrid. I take you—count fair. [He hands her his watch and goes to where Cynthia stands.] I say, Mrs. Karslake—
Cynthia. [Overwhelmed with grief and emotion.] They're engaged; they're going to be married to-night, over champagne and lobster at my house!
Sir Wilfrid. Will you consider your—
Cynthia. [Hastily, to get rid of him.] No, no, no, no! Thank you, Sir Wilfrid, I will not.
Sir Wilfrid. [Calm, and not to be laid low.] Thanks awfully. [Cynthia walks away. Returning to Vida.] Mrs. Phillimore—
Vida. [Returning his watch.] Too late! [To Karslake.] Jack, dear, we must be off.
Sir Wilfrid. [Standing and making a general appeal for information.] I say, is it the custom for American girls—that sixty seconds or too late? Look here! Not a bit too late. I'll take you around to Jack Karslake's, and I'm going to ask you the same old question again, you know. [To Vida.] By Jove, you know in your country it's the pace that kills.
[Sir Wilfrid follows Vida out the door.
John. [Gravely to Cynthia, who has walked away.] Good-night, Mrs. Karslake, I'm going; I'm sorry I came.
Cynthia. Sorry? Why are you sorry? [John looks at her; she winces a little.] You've got what you wanted. [After a pause.] I wouldn't mind your marrying Vida—