Sir Wilfrid. 'Course you do! You'll see me when I call to-morrow—at ten? We'll run down to Belmont Park, eh?
Cynthia. Don't be absurd!
Vida. [Has finished her talk with John, and breaks in on Sir Wilfrid, who has hung about Cynthia too long to suit her.] To-morrow at twelve, Sir Wilfrid!
Sir Wilfrid. Twelve!
Vida. [Shaking hands with John.] Don't forget, Mr. Karslake—eleven o'clock to-morrow.
John. [Bowing assent.] I won't!
Vida. [Coming over to Cynthia.] Oh, Mrs. Karslake, I've ordered Tiffany to send you something. It's a sugar-bowl to sweeten the matrimonial lot! I suppose nothing would induce you to call?
Cynthia. [Distantly and careless of offending.] Thanks, no—that is, is "Cynthia K" really to be there at eleven? I'd give a gold mine to see her again.
Vida. Do come!
Cynthia. If Mr. Karslake will accommodate me by his absence.