Philip.
[As he writes.] By George, you've got the romantic touch, Robbie! If you'd been a literary bloke, what sellers you'd have written!
Roope.
[Behind the smoking-table, smoothing his hair complacently.] Funny, your remark. As a matter of fact, I used to dabble a little in pen-and-ink as a young man.
Philip.
[Reading, a tender ring in his voice.] "Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?" [Adding his signature.] "Philip."
Roope.
Admirable!
Philip.
[Folding and enclosing the note—catching some of Roope's hopefulness.] In the meantime I'll array myself in my Sunday-best—[moistening the envelope] on the chance——