[Sitting beside Lady Filson, dazed.] My dear mother——!
Ottoline.
[Starting up.] Oh, do try to be understanding and sympathetic! Mr. Mackworth is a high-souled, noble fellow. If I'd been honest with myself, I should have married him ten years ago. To me this is a golden dream come true. Recollect my bitter experience of the other sort of marriage! [Walking away to the fireplace.] Why grudge me a spark of romance in my life!
Sir Randle.
[Raising his hands.] Romance!
Lady Filson.
[To Sir Randle and Bertram.] Just now she was resenting our considering her a child!
Ottoline.
[Looking down upon the flowers in the grate.] Romance doesn't belong to youth, mother. Youth is greedy for reality—the toy that feels solid in its fingers. I was, and bruised myself with it. After such a lesson as I've had, one yearns for something less tangible—something that lifts one morally out of oneself—an ideal——!
Sir Randle.