Ottoline.
You can write under an alias—a nom de plume—until you've won your proper place——
Philip.
[Uneasily.] Oh, well—perhaps—by-and-by—when we had settled down, you and I—and things had adjusted themselves——
Ottoline.
Yes, when you'd grown sick and weary of your new environment, and had had time to reflect on the horrid trick I'd employed to get hold of you, and had learned to despise me for it, you'd creep back to your desk and make an effort to pick up the broken threads! [Coming to the settee on the right.] Eh bien! Do you know what would happen then, Phil?
Philip.
W-w-what?
Ottoline.
[Intensely.] I should puff you, under the rose—quietly pull the strings—use all the influence I could rake up——