How dreadful for you! [Giving him the press-cuttings.] Sit down, if you're not too warm, and look at this rubbish while I talk to Miss Tracer.
Bertram.
Press-cuttings?
Lady Filson.
Isn't it strange, the way the papers follow all our doings!
Bertram.
Not in the least, mother. [Sitting upon the settee on the right and reading the press-cuttings.] I mean t'say, I consider it perfectly right and proper.
Lady Filson.
[Sorting her letters and cards—to Miss Tracer.] There's not much this morning, Miss Tracer. [Handing some letters to Miss Tracer.] You can deal with these.
Miss Tracer.