LADY FILSON.

[_Gulping._] Pleasure! [_Unable to repress herself._] Unmixed--! Ho, ho, ho, ho----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Restraining her._] Winifred----!

OTTOLINE.

[_Coming to_ LADY FILSON _and touching her gently--in a low voice._]

Mother----!

PHILIP.

[_Smiling at_ OTTOLINE _apologetically._] It's my fault; I provoked that. [_Walking away to the right._] I expressed myself rather clumsily, I'm afraid.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Expanding his chest and advancing to_ PHILIP.] I gather from my daughter, Mr. Mackworth, that you are here for the purpose of "explaining your position" in relation to her. I believe I quote her words accurately----

OTTOLINE.

[_Moving to the fireplace._] Yes, Dad.

PHILIP.

That is so, Sir Randle--if you and Lady Filson will have the patience----

[SIR RANDLE _motions_ PHILIP _to the settee on the right._ PHILIP _sits. Then_ OTTOLINE _sits on the settee before the fireplace, and_ SIR RANDLE _in the arm-chair by_ PHILIP. LADY FILSON _turns in her chair to listen._

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ PHILIP, _majestically._] Before you embark upon your explanation, permit me to define _my_ position--mine and Lady Filson's. [PHILIP _nods._] I am going to make a confession to you; and I should like to feel that I am making it as one gentleman to another. [PHILIP _nods again._] Mr. Mackworth, Lady Filson and I are ambitious people. Not for ourselves. For ourselves, all we desire is rest and retirement--[_closing his eyes_] if it were possible, obscurity. But where our children are concerned, it is different; and, to be frank--I _must_ be frank--we had hoped that, in the event of Ottoline remarrying, she would contract such a marriage as is commonly described as brilliant.

PHILIP.

[_Dryly._] Such a marriage as her marriage to Monsieur de Chaumie, for example.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Closing his eyes._] _De mortuis_, Mr. Mackworth! I must decline----

PHILIP.

I merely wished, as a basis of argument, to get at your exact interpretation of brilliancy.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Dismissing the point with a wave of the hand._] It is easy for you, therefore, as you have already intimated, to judge what are our sensations at receiving my daughter's communication.

PHILIP.

[_Nodding._] They are distinctly disagreeable.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Conscientiously._] They are--I won't exaggerate--I mustn't exaggerate--they are not far removed from dismay.

LADY FILSON.

Utter dismay.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Shifting his chair--to_ PHILIP.] I learn--I learn from Ottoline that you have forsaken the field of journalism, Mr. Mackworth, and now devote yourself exclusively to creative work? [_Another nod from_ PHILIP.] But you have not--to use my daughter's phrase--up to the present--er----

PHILIP.

[_Nursing his leg._] Please go on.

SIR RANDLE.

You have not been eminently successful?

PHILIP.

Not yet. Not with the wide public. No; not yet.

SIR RANDLE.

Forgive me--any private resources?

PHILIP.

None worth mentioning. Two-hundred-a-year, left me by an old aunt.

LADY FILSON.

[_Under her breath._] Ho----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To her._] My dear----! [_To_ PHILIP.] On the other hand, Mr. Mackworth, as you are probably aware, my daughter is--no, I won't say a rich woman--I will say comfortably provided for; _not_ by the late Comte de Chaumie, but by myself. [_Closing his eyes._] I have never been a n.i.g.g.ardly parent, Mr. Mackworth.

OTTOLINE.

[_Softly, without turning._] Indeed, no, Dad!