SIR RANDLE.

Sir Timothy Barradell?

LADY FILSON.

[_Nodding._] With Ottoline, in her sitting-room.

SIR RANDLE.

Indeed?

LADY FILSON.

He brought a note for her half-an-hour ago, evidently asking her to receive him.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Going to_ LADY FILSON.] An early call!

LADY FILSON.

Extremely.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Sitting near her, in the arm-chair on the left of the settee, and pursing his lips._] It may mean nothing.

LADY FILSON.

Oh, nothing.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Examining his nails._] A nice, amiable fellow.

LADY FILSON.

Full of fine qualities, if I'm any judge of character.

SIR RANDLE.

None the worse for being self-made, Winnie.

LADY FILSON.

Not in _my_ estimation.

SIR RANDLE.

H'm, h'm, h'm, h'm----!

LADY FILSON.

[_Softly._] It wouldn't _sound_ bad, Randle.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes._] "Lady Barradell."

LADY FILSON.

[_In the same way._] "Lady Barradell."

SIR RANDLE.

[_In a murmur, but with great gusto._] "A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place between Sir Timothy Barradell, Bart., of 16, The Albany, and Bryanstown Park, County Wicklow, and Ottoline, widow of the late Comte de Chaumie, only daughter of Sir Randle and Lady Filson, of 71, Ennismore Gardens, and Pickhurst, Bramsfold, Suss.e.x."

LADY FILSON.

[_After a short pause, in a low voice._] Darling Ottoline! What a wedding she shall have!

[_Again there is a pause, and then_ SIR RANDLE _leaves his chair and seats himself beside_ LADY FILSON.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Putting his arm round her, fondly._] Mother!

[_They look at one another, and he draws her to him and kisses her. As he does so, the glazed door opens and_ WESTRIP _returns, carrying an ill.u.s.trated-weekly._ LADY FILSON _rises hastily and goes to the writing-table._

WESTRIP.

[_Handing her the paper._] It was in the servants' hall, Lady Filson.

LADY FILSON.

[_Laying the paper and the press-cuttings upon the writing-table, and sitting at the table and busying herself with her letters._] Thank you so much.

WESTRIP.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Are you ready for me now, Sir Randle?

SIR RANDLE.

[_Abstractedly._] Er--is there anything of grave importance to-day, Mr.

Westrip? I forget.

WESTRIP.

[_Coming to him._] Boxfield and Henderson, the photographers, are anxious to photograph you and Lady Filson for their series of "Notable People," Sir Randle.