John. [After a pause, and still cross.] Awful cheerful morning chat.
Vida. [Excusing her curiosity and coming back to love as the only subject for serious conversation.] I must hear the story, for I'm anxious to know why I've taken such a fancy to you!
John. [Very nonchalantly.] Why do I like you?
Vida. [Doing her best to charm.] I won't tell you—it would flatter you too much.
John. [Not a bit impressed by Vida, but humanly ready to flirt.] Tell me!
Vida. There's a rose for you.
[Giving him the one she has in her hand.
John. [Saying what is plainly expected of him.] I want more than a rose—
Vida. [Passing over this insinuation.] You refuse to tell me—?
John. [Once more reminded of Cynthia, speaks with sudden feeling.] There's nothing to tell. We met, we loved, we married, we parted; or at least we wrangled and jangled. [Sighs.] Ha! Why weren't we happy? Don't ask me, why! It may have been partly my fault!