Cynthia. Oh, oh! I hardly touched your face! And do you remember the day you held my wrists?
John. You were going to bite me!
Cynthia. Jack! I never! I showed my teeth at you! And I said I would bite you!
John. Cynthia, I never knew you to break your word! [He laughs. Casually.] And anyhow—they were awfully pretty teeth! [Cynthia, though bolt upright, has ceased to seem pained.] And I say—do you remember, Cyn—
[He leans over her armchair to talk.
Cynthia. [After a pause.] You oughtn't to call me "Cyn"—it's not nice of you. It's sort of cruel. I'm not—Cyn to you now.
John. Awfully sorry; didn't mean to be beastly, Cyn. [Cynthia turns quickly. John stamps his foot.] Cynthia! Sorry. I'll make it a commandment: thou shalt not Cyn!!
[Cynthia laughs and wipes her eyes.
Cynthia. How can you, Jack? How can you?
John. Well, hang it, my dear child, I—I'm sorry, but you know I always got foolish with you. Your laugh'd make a horse laugh. Why, don't you remember that morning in the park before breakfast—when you laughed so hard your horse ran away with you!