Cynthia. [Wounded to the heart.] Jack! What are you saying?
John. [With unrestrained emotion.] What,—you feigning an interest in me, feigning a lie—and in five minutes— [With a gesture, indicating the altar.] Oh, you've taught me the trick of your sex—you're the woman who's not a woman!
Cynthia. [Weakly.] You're saying terrible things to me.
John. [Low and with intensity.] You haven't been divorced from me long enough to forget—what you should be ashamed to remember.
Cynthia. [Unable to face him and pretending not to understand him.] I don't know what you mean?
John. [More forcibly and with manly emotion.] You're not able to forget me! You know you're not able to forget me; ask yourself if you are able to forget me, and when your heart, such as it is, answers "no," then— [The organ is plainly heard.] Well, then, prance gaily up to the altar and marry that, if you can!
He abruptly quits the room and Cynthia, moving to an armchair, sinks into it, trembling. Matthew comes in and is joined by Miss Heneage and Philip. They do not see Cynthia buried deeply in her chair. Accordingly, Miss Heneage moves over to the sofa and waits. They are all dressed for an evening reception and Philip is in the traditional bridegroom's rig.
Matthew. [As he enters.] I am sure you will do your part, Sarah—in a spirit of Christian decorum. [To Philip.] It was impossible to find my surplice, Philip, but the more informal the better.
Philip. [With pompous responsibility.] Where's Cynthia?