Lady Macphail.
The boy is here to pour out the passionate torrent of his love for your child Imogen. Speak, Colin.
[Macphail rouses himself, rises, and looks round.]
Macphail.
Mother, you do it. [He resumes his seat.]
Lady Macphail.
Ah, if we were at Castle Ballocheevin, with the wind roaring round Ben Muchty, and the sound of the pipers playing by the shores of Loch-na-Doich, then you would hear Colin’s voice rise loud and high.
Sir Julian Twombley.
As we are denied these obvious advantages, it is almost necessary to ask you to explain——
Lady Macphail.