John. [Taking his stand between them and the door.] No thoroughfare!
Sir Wilfrid. Look here, my boy—!
Cynthia. [Catching at the opportunity of putting John in an impossible position.] Wait a moment, Sir Wilfrid! Give me the wire! [Facing him.] Thanks! [Taking the telegraph form from him and tearing it up.] There! Too rude to chuck him by wire! But you, Jack, you've taken on yourself to look after my interests, so I'll just ask you, old man, to run down to the Supreme Court and tell Philip—nicely, you know—I'm off with Sir Wilfrid and where! Say I'll be back by seven, if I'm not later! And make it clear, Jack, I'll marry him by eight-thirty or nine at the latest! And mind you're there, dear! And now, Sir Wilfrid, we're off.
John. [Staggered and furious, giving way as they pass him.] I'm not the man to—to carry—
Cynthia. [Quick and dashing.] Oh, yes, you are.
John. —a message from you.
Cynthia. [Triumphant.] Oh, yes, you are; you're just exactly the man! [Cynthia and Sir Wilfrid whirl out.
John. Great miracles of Moses!
Curtain.