Sir Randle.
[Rising and pacing up and down between the glazed door and the settee on the right.] I shall have difficulty—[shaking his uplifted fist] I shall have difficulty in restraining myself from denouncing Mr. Mackworth in her presence!
Bertram.
[Dismally.] As to the wedding, there's no reason that I can see—because a lady marries a literary man, I mean t'say—why the function should be a shabby one.
Lady Filson.
[Rising and moving about at the back distractedly.] That it sha'n't be! If we can't prevent my poor girl from throwing herself away, I'm determined her wedding shall be smart and impressive!
Sir Randle.
[Bitterly, with wild gestures.] "The interesting engagement is announced of Mr.—Mr.——"
Bertram.
[Wandering to the fireplace, his chin on his breast.] Philip, father.