ON _inquiringly._] What----?

LADY FILSON.

[_Pointing to the open door._] H'sh!

[BERTRAM _shuts the door and_ LADY FILSON _seats herself
upon the settee on the right._

BERTRAM.

[_Coming to her._] What has happened, mother?

LADY FILSON.

What I conjectured. I was certain of it.

BERTRAM.

He _has_ proposed to my sister?

LADY FILSON.

Yes.

BERTRAM.

[_Struck by his mother's manner._] She has refused him?

LADY FILSON.

[_Nodding._] She's _eprise_ with another man.

BERTRAM.

Who is it?

LADY FILSON.

She didn't----

BERTRAM.

Is it Trefusis?

LADY FILSON.

_I_ believe it's Delacour.

BERTRAM.

[_Walking about._] Possibly! Possibly!

LADY FILSON.

[_Anxiously._] I do hope she realizes what she's doing, Bertram. Sir
Timothy could buy them both up, with something to spare.

BERTRAM.

I agree, my dear mother; but it would have been horribly offensive to
_us_, I mean t'say, to see the name of Ottoline's husband branded upon
sides of bacon in the windows of the provision-shops.

LADY FILSON.

Oh, disgusting! [_Brightening._] How sensibly you look at things,
darling!

BERTRAM.

[_Taking up a position before the fireplace._] Whereas George Delacour
and Edward Trefusis are undeniably gentlemen--gentlemen by birth and
breeding, I mean t'say.

LADY FILSON.

Trefusis is connected, through his brother, with the Northcrofts!

BERTRAM.

Quite so. If Ottoline married Edward, she would be Lady Juliet's
sister-in-law.

LADY FILSON.

Upon my word, Bertie, I don't know _which_ of the two I'd rather it
turned out to be!

[SIR RANDLE _returns, with a solemn countenance. He
closes the door and comes forward._

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ LADY FILSON.] A melancholy morning, Winnie.

LADY FILSON.

[_Sighing._] A