Cynthia. [Cheerfully; in a rage.] Sorry!
John. [Also apparently cheerful.] Yes, gout. It gives me a twinge even to sit in the shadow of a sugar-maple! First you riot, and then you diet!
Vida. [Calm and amused; aside to Matthew.] My dear Matthew, he's a darling! But I feel as if we were all taking tea on the slope of a volcano! [Matthew sits down.
Philip. It occurred to me, Mr. Karslake, you might be glad to find a purchaser for your portrait by Sargent?
John. It's not my portrait. It's a portrait of Mrs. Karslake, and to tell you the truth—Sargent's a good fellow—I've made up my mind to keep it—to remember the artist by.
[Cynthia is wounded by this.
Philip. H'm!
[Cynthia hands a second cup to John.
Cynthia. [With careful politeness.] Your cup of tea, Mr. Karslake.
John. [Rising and taking the tea with courteous indifference.] Thanks—sorry to trouble you.