[Gently resisting.] Poor Sir Timothy——!
Philip.
[In high spirits.] Oh, a little exercise won't do Sir Timothy any harm! [Helping her to slip her arms out of her coat.] Dash it, you might have let me escort you to Bond Street!
Ottoline.
No, no; your work——
Philip.
[His brow clouding.] W-w-work——?
Ottoline.
You mustn't lose your morning's work.
[There is a short pause, and then he rises and moves a few steps away from her. With an impassive countenance, she fingers the buttons of her gloves.