[LADY FILSON _rises and almost runs to the writing-table, where she sits and s.n.a.t.c.hes at a sheet of paper._ SIR RANDLE _follows her and stands beside her._

BERTRAM.

[_Reclining upon the settee on the left._] Lady Blanche Finnis----

LADY FILSON.

[_Seizing her pen._] Wait; don't be so quick! [_Writing._] "Hon. Sybil Maundrell----"

[_The glazed door is opened softly and_ OTTOLINE _enters. She pauses, looking at the group at the writing-table._

SIR RANDLE.

[To LADY FILSON, as she writes.] Lady Eva Sherringham----

BERTRAM.

Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe----

LADY FILSON.

[_Writing._] "Lady Eva Sherringham--Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe----"

BERTRAM.

Lady Irene Pallant----

SIR RANDLE.

I _pray_ there may be no captious opposition from Ottoline.

LADY FILSON.

Surely she doesn't want to be married like a middle-cla.s.s widow from Putney! [_Writing._] "Lady Blanche Finnis----"

BERTRAM.

If pages are permissible--to carry my sister's train, I mean t'say----

SIR RANDLE.

Pages--yes, yes----

BERTRAM.

There are the two Galbraith boys--little Lord Wensleydale and his brother Herbert.

LADY FILSON.

[_Writing._] Such picturesque children!

SIR RANDLE.

I doubt whether the bare civilities which have pa.s.sed between ourselves and Lord and Lady Galbraith----

LADY FILSON.

They are country neighbours.

BERTRAM.

No harm in approaching them, my dear father. I mean to _say_----!

[OTTOLINE _shuts the door with a click._ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _turn, startled, and_ LADY FILSON _slips the list into a drawer._

SIR RANDLE.

[_Benignly._] Otto?

OTTOLINE.

[_In a steady voice._] Sorry to disturb you all over your elaborate preparations, Dad. I see Sir Timothy has saved me the trouble of breaking the news.

SIR RANDLE.

Y-you----?

OTTOLINE.

[_Nodding._] You were too absorbed. I couldn't help listening.

SIR RANDLE.

Ahem! Sir Timothy didn't _volunteer_ the information, Ottoline----

OTTOLINE.

_Peu m'importe!_ [_Advancing, smiling on one side of her mouth._] What a grand wedding you are planning for me! _Quel projets mirifiques!_

SIR RANDLE.

[_Embarra.s.sed._] Your dear mother was--er--merely jotting down----

OTTOLINE.

[_Pa.s.sing her hands over her face and walking to the settee on the right._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----!

LADY FILSON.