Lady Filson.
While my daughter is wasting the best years of her life!
Sir Randle.
[Indignantly.] Really, Mr. Mackworth! [Throwing himself upon the settee on the right.] Really! I appeal to you! Is this fair?
Lady Filson.
Is it fair to Ottoline?
Ottoline.
Absolument! So that it satisfies me to spend the best years of my life in this manner, I don't see what anybody has to complain of. Mon Dieu! I am relieved to think that some of my best years are still mine to squander!
Sir Randle.
[To Philip, who is standing by the writing-table in thought, a look of disquiet on his face—persistently.] Mr. Mackworth——!