John. Please do!
Vida. [With gush, and determined to be womanly at all hazards.] Jack, I believe you'd be a lovely lover!
John. [Immensely diverted.] Try me!
Vida. [Not hoping much from his tone.] You charming, tempting, delightful fellow, I could love you without the least effort in the world,—but, no!
John. [Playing the game.] Ah, well, now seriously! Between two people who have suffered and made their own mistakes—
Vida. [Playing the game too, but not playing it well.] But you see, you don't really love me!
John. [Still ready to say what is expected.] Cynthia—Vida, no man can sit beside you and look into your eyes without feeling—
Vida. [Speaking the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods don't succeed.] Oh! That's not love! That's simply—well, my dear Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. And the truth is you hate Cynthia Karslake with such a whole-hearted hate, that you haven't a moment to think of any other woman.
John. [With sudden anger.] I hate her!
Vida. [Very softly and most sweetly.] Jack—Jack, I could be as foolish about you as—oh, as foolish as anything, my dear! And perhaps some day—perhaps some day you'll come to me and say, Vida, I am totally indifferent to Cynthia—and then—