How thoroughly I've grown away from them--ceased to be one of them.

[_Stamping her foot._] Oh, I know I'm ungrateful; and that they're proud of me, and pet and spoil me; [_contracting her shoulder-blades_]

but they make my flesh feel quite raw--mother, Dad, and my brother Bertram! Their intense satisfaction with themselves, and everything appertaining to them, irritates me to such a pitch that I'm often obliged to rush out of the room to stop myself from being rude.

[_Impetuously._] And then to have to watch Dad and mother still pushing, scheming, intriguing; always with the affectation of despising _reclame_, yet doing nothing--not the most simple act--without a careful eye to it! Years ago, as I've said, there was an intelligible motive for our paltry ambitions; but now, when they have _force les portes_ and can afford to be sincere and independent----! [_Checking herself._] But I oughtn't to speak of my folks like this, ought I, even to you whom I can trust! [_Penitently._] It's awfully wrong of me. I--I beg your pardon.

PHILIP.

[_After a short silence._] What do you intend to do, then, Otto, ultimately--re-establish yourself in Paris?

OTTOLINE.

[_Drearily._] Paris! Is Paris so full of cheerful memories for me, do you suppose, that I should cling to it!

PHILIP.

[_Soothingly._] Oh, come----!

OTTOLINE.

I travelled about for some months after I became a widow, and when I saw Paris again--! [_Starting up as if to rid herself of disagreeable sensations._] No, my one great desire is to escape from it all, Phil--[_moving to the chair on the left_] to escape----!

PHILIP.

[_Rising._] Escape?

OTTOLINE.

To alter the whole current of my life, if it's possible, [_sinking into the chair_] and to breathe some fresh air! [_Fanning herself with her hand._] Phew-w-w-w!

PHILIP.

H'm! [_Approaching her and looking down upon her._] According to report, Ottoline, you'd have very little difficulty in--escaping.

OTTOLINE.

[_Glancing up at him._] Report?

PHILIP.

Rumour has it that there are at least a dozen ardent admirers at your feet, each with a wedding-ring in his waistcoat-pocket.

OTTOLINE.

[_Reproachfully, her eyes meeting his._] Why, have you been listening to t.i.ttle-tattle as well as studying newspaper paragraphs! [_He bows, good-humouredly._] My dear Philip, allowing for exaggeration, granting that my _soupirants_ number _half_-a-dozen, which of them would enable me to fill my lungs with fresh air? Who _are_ they, these enterprising men----?

PHILIP.

[_Leaving her abruptly and going to the mantelpiece._] Oh, pray don't ask _me_! I don't know who the fellows are--except--they say--Sir Timothy Barradell----

OTTOLINE.

[_Lightly but softly._] Sir Timothy! Sir Timothy has only just succeeded in fighting his way into the world I'm sick and tired of!

[_Shaking her head._] Poor Sir Tim! [_Pityingly._] Ha, ha, ha, ha!

PHILIP.

[_His back towards her._] Otto----

OTTOLINE.

Yes?

PHILIP.

What sort of world would you be willing to exchange for your present one, my dear?

OTTOLINE.

What sort----?

PHILIP.

What sort--spiritual and material?

OTTOLINE.

[_Resting her elbow upon the arm of her chair and her chin upon her hand, musingly._] Oh, I believe any world would content me that's totally different from the world I've lived in so long; any world that isn't flat and stale and stifling; that isn't made up of shams, and petty aims and appet.i.tes; any world that--well, such a world as you used to picture, Phil, when you preached your gospel to a selfish, common girl under the chestnuts in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees! [_Half laughing, half sighing._] Ha, la, la, la!

[_Again there is a pause, and then he walks to the further window and gazes into the street once more._

PHILIP.

[_In a low voice._] Ten years ago, Otto!

OTTOLINE.

Ten years ago!

PHILIP.

[_Partly in jest, partly seriously._] Do the buds still sprout on those trees in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees, can you tell me?

OTTOLINE.

[_Falling in with his humour._] Ha, ha! Every spring, _cher ami_, regularly.

PHILIP.

And the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville and the Pre-Catelan--is it still rich and delectable?