Ha! [Brushing her hair from her brow fretfully.] Oh! Oh, Phil, it was blindness on my part to return to them—sheer blindness!
Philip.
Blindness?
Ottoline.
They've been urging me to do it ever since my husband's death; so I had ample time to consider the step. But I didn't realize, till I'd settled down in Ennismore Gardens, how thoroughly I——
Philip.
[Finding she doesn't continue.] How thoroughly——?
Ottoline.
How thoroughly I've grown away from them—ceased to be one of them. [Stamping her foot.] Oh, I know I'm ungrateful; and that they're proud of me, and pet and spoil me; [contracting her shoulder-blades] but they make my flesh feel quite raw—mother, Dad, and my brother Bertram! Their intense satisfaction with themselves, and everything appertaining to them, irritates me to such a pitch that I'm often obliged to rush out of the room to stop myself from being rude. [Impetuously.] And then to have to watch Dad and mother still pushing, scheming, intriguing; always with the affectation of despising réclame, yet doing nothing—not the most simple act—without a careful eye to it! Years ago, as I've said, there was an intelligible motive for our paltry ambitions; but now, when they have forcé les portes and can afford to be sincere and independent——! [Checking herself.] But I oughtn't to speak of my folks like this, ought I, even to you whom I can trust! [Penitently.] It's awfully wrong of me. I—I beg your pardon.
Philip.