Ottoline.
[Rising impatiently.] My dear Dad—my dear mother—I propose that we postpone this discussion until Mr. Mackworth's new book has failed to attract the public, [crossing to Sir Randle] and that in the meantime he sha'n't be scowled at when he presents himself in Ennismore Gardens. [Seating herself beside Sir Randle and slipping her arm through his.] Dad——!
Lady Filson.
[To Philip.] Mr. Mackworth——!
Philip.
[Rousing himself and turning to Sir Randle and Lady Filson—abruptly.] Look here, Sir Randle! Look here, Lady Filson! I own that this arrangement between Ottoline and me is an odd one. It was arrived at yesterday impulsively; and, in her interests, there is a good deal to be said against it.
Lady Filson.
There's nothing to be said for it. Oh——!
Sir Randle.
[To Lady Filson.] Winifred—[To Philip.] Well, Mr. Mackworth?