John. Oh, that's where you come out!
Cynthia. I thought so yesterday, and to-day I know it. It's an insufferable thing to a woman of any delicacy of feeling to find her husband—
John. Ahem—former!
Cynthia. Once a husband always—
John. [In the same cynical tone.] Oh, no! Oh, dear, no.
Cynthia. To find her—to find the man she has once lived with—in the house of—making love to—to find you here! [John smiles and rises.] You smile,—but I say, it should be a social axiom, no woman should have to meet her former husband.
John. [Cynical and cutting.] Oh, I don't know; after I've served my term I don't mind meeting my jailor.
Cynthia. [As John takes chair near her.] It's indecent—at the horse-show, the opera, at races and balls, to meet the man who once—It's not civilized! It's fantastic! It's half baked! Oh, I never should have come here! [He sympathizes, and she grows irrational and furious.] But it's entirely your fault!
John. My fault?
Cynthia. [Working herself into a rage.] Of course. What business have you to be about—to be at large. To be at all!