Sir Wilfrid. To me! [Tipping him.
Brooks. [Bowing.] To you, Sir Wilfrid. [Brooks goes.
Sir Wilfrid. [Returning to Cynthia.] I've got to have my innings, y' know! [Looking at her more closely.] I say, you've been crying!—
Cynthia. King William!
Sir Wilfrid. You are crying! Poor little gal!
Cynthia. [Tears in her eyes.] I feel all shaken and cold.
[Brooks returns with a card.
Sir Wilfrid. [Astonished and sympathetic.] Poor little gal.
Cynthia. [Her eyes wet.] I didn't sleep a wink last night. [With disgust.] Oh, what is the matter with me?
Sir Wilfrid. Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff! You— [Brooks has carried in the card to Sir Wilfred, who picks it up and says aside, to Brooks:] Phillimore? [Brooks assents. Aloud to Cynthia, calmly deceitful.] Who's Waldorf Smith? [Cynthia shakes her head. To Brooks, returning card to salver.] Tell the gentleman Mrs. Karslake is not here! [Brooks leaves the room.