Westrip.
Good morning, Mr. Filson.
[Westrip goes out, closing the door.
Bertram.
[To Miss Tracer.] Good morning, Miss Tracer.
Miss Tracer.
[Who has seated herself in the chair at the further side of the writing-table—meekly.] Good morning.
Lady Filson.
[Half turning to Bertram, the press-cuttings in her hand.] Ah, my darling! Was that you I saw speaking to Underwood as I came through the hall?
Bertram.