Don't imagine that I am apologizing for him, please, in the slightest degree; but no, he hasn't been successful up to the present, in the usual acceptation of the term.
Lady Filson.
[Searching for her handkerchief.] Where—where have you——?
Ottoline.
I met him yesterday at Robbie Roope's, at lunch. [Lady Filson finds her handkerchief and applies it to her eyes.] Oh, there's no need to cry, mother dear. For mercy's sake——!
Lady Filson.
Oh, Otto! [Rising and crossing to the settee on the right, whimpering.] Oh, Randle! [To Bertram, who comes to her.] Oh, my boy!
Sir Randle.
[Gazing blinkingly at the ceiling as Lady Filson sinks upon the settee.] Incredible! Incredible!
Bertram.