[Relaxing.] Oh, I know I'm behaving as if I were a girl instead of a woman who has been married—a widow—free—independent—[to Sir Randle] thanks to your liberality, Dad! But, being at home, I seem to have lost, in a measure, my sense of personal liberty——
Sir Randle.
[Blandly but uneasily.] My child!
Ottoline.
That's it! Child! Now that I've returned to you, I'm still a child—still an object for you to fix your hopes and expectations upon. The situation has slipped back, in your minds, pretty much to what it was in the old days in the Avenue Montaigne. You may protest that it isn't so, but it is. [Attempting a laugh.] That's why my knees are shaking at this moment, and my spine's all of a jelly! [She rises and goes to the chair at the writing-table and grips the chair-rail. The others follow her apprehensively with their eyes.] I—I'm afraid I'm about to disappoint you.
Lady Filson.
H-how?
Sir Randle.
Disap-point us?
Ottoline.