Philip.
[Making for the door on the left.] I'll bolt, then.
Roope.
[Rising and seizing him.] You shall do nothing of the kind. [Forcing him down upon the fauteuil-stool.] You'll upset my luncheon-table! [Tidying himself.] You're most inconsiderate; you are positively. And you've disarranged my necktie.
Philip.
[In a low voice.] How is she looking, Robbie?
Roope.
Brilliant. [Putting his necktie in order.] Is that straight? Brilliant.
Philip.
[Gazing into space.] Ten years ago, old man!