Cynthia. You meant what you said!
John. [Moving a step toward her.] Mrs. Karslake; I apologize—I won't do it again. But it's too late for you to be out alone—Philip will be here in a moment—and of course, then—
Cynthia. It isn't what you say—it's—it's—it's everything. It's the entire situation. Suppose by any chance I don't marry Phillimore! And suppose I were seen at two or three in the morning leaving my former husband's house! It's all wrong. I have no business to be here! I'm going! You're perfectly horrid to me, you know—and—the whole place—it's so familiar, and so—so associated with—with—
John. Discord and misery—I know—
Cynthia. Not at all with discord and misery! With harmony and happiness—with—with first love, and infinite hope—and—and—Jack Karslake,—if you don't set that chair on its legs, I think I'll explode. [John crosses the room rapidly, and sets the chair on its legs. His tone changes.
John. [While setting chair on its legs.] There! I beg your pardon.
Cynthia. [Nervously.] I believe I hear Philip. [She rises.
John. [Going up to the window.] N-o! That's the policeman trying the front door! And now, see here, Mrs. Karslake,—you're only here for a short minute, because you can't help yourself, but I want you to understand that I'm not trying to be disagreeable—I don't want to revive all the old unhappy—
Cynthia. Very well, if you don't—give me my hat. [John does so.] And my sewing! And my gloves, please! [She indicates the several articles which lie on the small table.] Thanks! [Cynthia throws the lot into the fireplace, and returns to the place she has left near table.] There! I feel better! And now—all I ask is—
John. [Laughing.] My stars, what a pleasure it is!