[_To_ LADY FILSON, _blankly._] Winnie----?

LADY FILSON.

R-Randle----?

SIR RANDLE.

[_Biting his nails._] He's right. [BERTRAM _hastens to the glazed door._] Dear Bertram is right.

BERTRAM.

[_Opening the door._] You'll see him----?

LADY FILSON.

Y-yes.

SIR RANDLE.

Yes. [BERTRAM _disappears._ SIR RANDLE _paces the room at the back, waving his arms._] Oh! Oh!

LADY FILSON.

[_Going to the fireplace._] I won't be civil to him, Randle! The impertinence of his visit! I won't be civil to him!

SIR RANDLE.

A calamity! An unmerited calamity!

LADY FILSON.

[_Dropping on to the settee before the fireplace._] She's mad! That's the only excuse I can make for her!

SIR RANDLE.

Stark mad! A calamity.

LADY FILSON.

You remember the man?

SIR RANDLE.

[_Taking a book from the rack on the oblong table and hurriedly turning its pages._] A supercilious, patronizing person--son of a wretched country parson--used to loll against the wall of your _salon_--with his nose in the air.

LADY FILSON.

[_Tearfully._] A stroke of bad fortune at last, Randle! Fancy!

Everything has always gone so well with us----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Suddenly, groaning._] Oh!

LADY FILSON.

[_Over her shoulder._] What is it? I can't bear much more----

SIR RANDLE.

He isn't even in _Who's Who_, Winnie!

[BERTRAM _returns, out of breath._

BERTRAM.

I caught her on the stairs. [_Closing the door._] She'll bring him down.

LADY FILSON.

[_Weakly._] I won't be civil to him. I refuse to be civil to him.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Replacing the book in the rack and sitting in the chair at the oblong table--groaning again._] Oh!

[_There is a short silence._ BERTRAM _slowly advances._

BERTRAM.

[_Heavily, drawing his hand across his brow._] Of course, my dear father--my dear mother--we must do our utmost to quash it--strain every nerve, I mean t'say, to stop my sister from committing this stupendous act of folly.

LADY FILSON.

[_Rocking herself to and fro._] Oh! Oh!

SIR RANDLE.

A beggarly author!

BERTRAM.

[_The picture of dejection._] But if the worst comes to the worst--if she's obdurate, I mean t'say--an alliance between Society and Literature--I suppose there's no actual disgrace in it.

SIR RANDLE.

A duffer--a duffer whose trash doesn't sell----!