Cynthia. [Aware that she has no business where she is.] I thought it was Philip!
Sir Wilfrid. [Telling the truth as if it were a lie.] So did I! [With cheerful confidence.] And now, Mrs. Karslake, I'll tell you why you're cryin'. [Sitting down beside her.] You're marryin' the wrong man! I'm sorry for you, but you're such a goose. Here you are, marryin' this legal luminary. What for? You don't know! He don't know! But I do! You pretend you're marryin' him because it's the sensible thing; not a bit of it. You're marryin' Mr. Phillimore because of all the other men you ever saw he's the least like Jack Karslake.
Cynthia. That's a very good reason.
Sir Wilfrid. There's only one good reason for marrying, and that is because you'll die if you don't!
Cynthia. Oh, I've tried that!
Sir Wilfrid. The Scripture says: "Try! try! again!" I tell you, there's nothing like a w'im!
Cynthia. What's that? W'im? Oh, you mean a whim! Do please try and say Whim!
Sir Wilfrid. [For the first time emphasizing his H in the word.] Whim. You must have a w'im—w'im for the chappie you marry.
Cynthia. I had—for Jack.
Sir Wilfrid. Your w'im wasn't wimmy enough, my dear! If you'd had more of it, and tougher, it would ha' stood, y'know! Now, I'm not proposin'!