er eyes._] Oh, there's no need to
cry, mother dear. For mercy's sake----!

LADY FILSON.

Oh, Otto! [_Rising and crossing to the settee on the right,
whimpering._] Oh, Randle! [_To_ BERTRAM, _who comes to her._] Oh, my
boy!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Gazing blinkingly at the ceiling as_ LADY FILSON _sinks upon the
settee._] Incredible! Incredible!

BERTRAM.

[_Sitting beside_ LADY FILSON, _dazed._] My dear mother----!

OTTOLINE.

[_Starting up._] Oh, do try to be understanding and sympathetic! Mr.
Mackworth is a high-souled, noble fellow. If I'd been honest with
myself, I should have married him ten years ago. To me this is a golden
dream come true. Recollect my bitter experience of the _other_ sort of
marriage! [_Walking away to the fireplace._] Why grudge me a spark of
romance in my life!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Raising his hands._] Romance!

LADY FILSON.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ BERTRAM.] Just now she was resenting our
considering her a child!

OTTOLINE.

[_Looking down upon the flowers in the grate._] Romance doesn't belong
to youth, mother. Youth is greedy for reality--the toy that feels solid
in its fingers. _I_ was, and bruised myself with it. After such a
lesson as I've had, one yearns for something less tangible--something
that lifts one morally out of oneself--an ideal----!

SIR RANDLE.

Ha! An extract from a novel of Mr. Mackworth's apparently!

LADY FILSON.

[_Harshly._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----!

OTTOLINE.

[_Turning sharply and coming forward._] Sssh! Don't you sneer, mother!
Don't you sneer, Dad! [_Her eyes flashing._] _C'est au-dessus de vous
de sentir ce qu'il y a d'eleve et de grand!_ [_Fiercely._] _Tenez!
Qu'il vous plaise ou non----!_

[_She is checked by the entrance of_ UNDERWOOD _from the
hall._

UNDERWOOD.

[_Addressing the back of_ LADY FILSON_'s head._] Mr. Philip Mackworth,
m'lady.

LADY FILSON.

[_Straightening herself._] Not for me. [_Firmly._] For Madame de
Chaumie.

UNDERWOOD.

I beg pardon, m'lady. The gentleman inquired for your ladyship----