Westrip.
W-well?
Miss Tracer.
The corrections were in his handwriting!
Westrip.
[Shocked.] In Sir Randle's——!
Miss Tracer.
[Jumping up.] Phiou! I'm fearfully indiscreet. [Going to Westrip and touching his coat-sleeve.] Between ourselves, Mr. Westrip!
Westrip.
[Moving to the round table.] Quite—quite.