_----!

[OTTOLINE _shuts the door with a click._ SIR RANDLE
_and_ LADY FILSON _turn, startled, and_ LADY FILSON
_slips the list into a drawer._

SIR RANDLE.

[_Benignly._] Otto?

OTTOLINE.

[_In a steady voice._] Sorry to disturb you all over your elaborate
preparations, Dad. I see Sir Timothy has saved me the trouble of
breaking the news.

SIR RANDLE.

Y-you----?

OTTOLINE.

[_Nodding._] You were too absorbed. I couldn't help listening.

SIR RANDLE.

Ahem! Sir Timothy didn't _volunteer_ the information, Ottoline----

OTTOLINE.

_Peu m'importe!_ [_Advancing, smiling on one side of her mouth._] What
a grand wedding you are planning for me! _Quel projets mirifiques!_

SIR RANDLE.

[_Embarrassed._] Your dear mother was--er--merely jotting down----

OTTOLINE.

[_Passing her hands over her face and walking to the settee on the
right._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----!

LADY FILSON.

[_Rising and moving to the fireplace, complainingly._] Really,
Ottoline----!

OTTOLINE.

[_Sitting upon the settee._] Ha, ha, ha----!

LADY FILSON.

[_To_ BERTRAM, _who is slowly getting to his feet._] Go away, Bertie
darling.

OTTOLINE.

_Mais pourquoi?_ Bertie knows everything, obviously.

LADY FILSON.

Why shouldn't he, Otto? Your brother is as interested as we are----

OTTOLINE.

But of course! _Naturellement!_ [_With a shrug._] _C'est une affaire de
famille._ [_To_ BERTRAM, _who is now at the door on the left, his hand
on the door-handle._] Come back, Bertie. [_Repeating her wry smile._] I
shall be glad to receive your congratulations with mother's and Dad's.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Sit down, Dad; sit down, mother.
[SIR RANDLE _sits in the chair on the left of the settee on the right,_
LADY FILSON _in the low-backed arm-chair, and_ BERTRAM _at the oblong
table._] Are you very much surprised, dear people?

SIR RANDLE.

Surprised? Hardly.

LADY FILSON.

Poor Sir Timothy! No, we are har