Sir Randle.
[Dismissing the point with a wave of the hand.] It is easy for you, therefore, as you have already intimated, to judge what are our sensations at receiving my daughter's communication.
Philip.
[Nodding.] They are distinctly disagreeable.
Sir Randle.
[Conscientiously.] They are—I won't exaggerate—I mustn't exaggerate—they are not far removed from dismay.
Lady Filson.
Utter dismay.
Sir Randle.
[Shifting his chair—to Philip.] I learn—I learn from Ottoline that you have forsaken the field of journalism, Mr. Mackworth, and now devote yourself exclusively to creative work? [Another nod from Philip.] But you have not—to use my daughter's phrase—up to the present—er——