Sir Wilfrid. [For the first time a witness to the pretty complications of divorce. To Matthew.] Do you have it as warm as this ordinarily?
Matthew. [For whom these moments are more than usually painful, and wiping his brow.] It's not so much the heat as the humidity.
John. [Looks at watch and, relieved, glad to be off.] I shall be late for my creditors' dinner.
Sir Wilfrid. [Interested and walking toward John.] Creditors' dinner.
John. [Reading the note.] Fifteen of my sporting creditors have arranged to give me a blow-out at Sherry's, and I'm expected right away or sooner. And, by the way, I was to bring my friends—if I had any. So now's the time to stand by me! Mrs. Phillimore?
Vida. Of course!
John. [Ready to embarrass Cynthia, if possible, and speaking as if he had quite forgotten their former relations.] Mrs. Karslake—I beg your pardon. Judge? [Philip declines.] No? Sir Wilfrid?
Sir Wilfrid. I'm with you!
John. [To Matthew.] Your Grace?
Matthew. I regret—