[Halting.] Hardly.
Sir Timothy.
You don't! [Rumpling his hair.] I'll try to make it plainer to you. [Behind the smoking-table.] Er—will I smoke one of your cigarettes?——
Philip.
[Frigidly polite.] Please.
Sir Timothy.
[Taking a cigarette from the box on the table.] Mr. Mackworth, if Filson's prognostications as to the result of the quarrel between you and his sister are fulfilled, it's my intention, after a decent interval, to renew my appeal to her to marry me. [Striking a match.] Is that clear?
Philip.
Perfectly. [Stiffly.] But all the same, I'm still at a loss——
Sir Timothy.