John. [Routed.] Ask me if you dare! [He rises.
Cynthia. [Getting the whip hand for good.] Ask you to dinner? Oh, my dear fellow. [John rises.] I'm going to do much more than that. [She rises.] We must be friends, old man! We must meet, we must meet often, we must show New York the way the thing should be done, and, to show you I mean it—I want you to be my best man, and give me away when I'm married this afternoon.
John. [Incredulous and impatient.] You don't mean that!
[He pushes back his chair.
Cynthia. There you are! Always suspicious!
John. You don't mean that!
Cynthia. [Hiding her emotion under a sportswoman's manner.] Don't I? I ask you, come! And come as you are! And I'll lay my wedding gown to Cynthia K that you won't be there! If you're there, you get the gown, and if you're not, I get Cynthia K!—
John. [Determined not to be worsted.] I take it!
Cynthia. Done! Now, then, we'll see which of us two is the real sporting goods! Shake! [They shake hands on it.] Would you mind letting me have a plain soda? [John goes to the table, and, as he is rattled and does not regard what he is about, he fills the glass three-fourths full with whiskey. He gives this to Cynthia who looks him in the eye with an air of triumph.] Thanks. [Maliciously, as Vida enters.] Your hand is a bit shaky. I think you need a little King William. [John shrugs his shoulders, and, as Vida immediately speaks, Cynthia defers drinking.
Vida. [To Cynthia.] My dear, I'm sorry to tell you your husband—I mean, my husband—I mean Philip—he's asking for you over the 'phone. You must have said you were coming here. Of course, I told him you were not here, and hung up.