OTTOLINE.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE_--advancing a few steps, but leaving the door open._]

Are you and mother busy?

SIR RANDLE.

Not at all.

LADY FILSON.

[_Who has turned in her chair at_ OTTOLINE_'s entrance._] Not at all, Otto.

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ WESTRIP.] I will join you in the library, Mr. Westrip. [WESTRIP _withdraws at the door on the left, and_ SIR RANDLE _goes to_ OTTOLINE _and embraces her._] My dear child!

OTTOLINE.

[_In rather a strained voice._] Sir Timothy Barradell is here, Dad.

SIR RANDLE.

I heard he had called.

LADY FILSON.

So sweet of him to treat us informally!

OTTOLINE.

[_To_ LADY FILSON.] He would like to see you and Dad for a minute or two, mother----

LADY FILSON.

Charmed!

SIR RANDLE.

Delighted!

OTTOLINE.

Just to--just to bid you good-bye.

LADY FILSON.

Good-bye?

SIR RANDLE.

Good-bye?

OTTOLINE.

Yes; he's going away--abroad--for some months. [_With a motion of her head towards the hall._] He's in the hall. May I----?

LADY FILSON.

[_Rising._] Er--do.

SIR RANDLE.

Do.

OTTOLINE.

[_Returning to the door and calling._] Sir Timothy----!

[_There is a brief pause, during which_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _interrogate each other silently, and then_ SIR TIMOTHY BARRADELL _enters. He is a well-knit, pleasant-looking Irishman of about forty, speaking with a slight brogue._

LADY FILSON.

[_Advancing to greet him._] My dear Sir Timothy!

SIR TIMOTHY.

[_As they shake hands._] And how's my lady this morning? Are you well?

OTTOLINE.

[_At the door._] I'll leave you----

SIR TIMOTHY.

[_Turning to her hastily._] Ah--! [_Taking her hand._] I'm not to see you again?

OTTOLINE.

[_Shaking her head._] No. [_Smiling._] We've said good-bye upstairs.

[_Withdrawing her hand._] _Que Dieu vous protege!_ Good luck to you!

SIR TIMOTHY.

[_Ruefully._] Luck! [_In an undertone._] I've never had anything else till now; and now it's out entirely.

OTTOLINE.

[_Gently._] Shsssh----!