Sir Randle.
[Leaning back in his chair.] There then, my dear Mr. Mackworth, is the state of the case. Ottoline is beyond our control——
Lady Filson.
Unhappily.
Sir Randle.
If she will deal this crushing blow to her mother and myself, we must bow our heads to it. But, for the sake of your self-esteem, I beg you to reflect! [Partly to Philip, partly at Ottoline.] What construction would be put upon a union between you and Madame de Chaumié—between a lady of means and—I must be cruel—I must be brutal—a man who is—commercially at least—a failure?
Lady Filson.
There could only be one construction put upon it!
Ottoline.
[Rising.] Mother——!