OTTOLINE.

[_To_ UNDERWOOD.] In the drawing-room--[_with a queenly air_] no, in my
own room.

UNDERWOOD.

[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Yes, mad'm.

[UNDERWOOD _withdraws._

OTTOLINE.

[_Approaching_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Dad--mother----?

LADY FILSON.

Your father may do as he chooses. [_Rising and crossing to the
writing-table, where she sits and prepares to write._] I have letters
to answer.

OTTOLINE.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Dad----?

SIR RANDLE.

[_Rising._] Impossible--impossible. [_Marching to the fireplace._] I
cannot act apart from your dear mother. [_His back to the fireplace,
virtuously._] I never act apart from your dear mother.

OTTOLINE.

_Comme vous voudrez!_ [_Moving to the glazed door and there pausing._]
You _won't_----?

[SIR RANDLE _blinks at the ceiling again._ LADY FILSON
_scribbles audibly with a scratchy pen._ OTTOLINE _goes
out, closing the door._

BERTRAM.

[_Jumping up as the door shuts--in an expostulatory tone._] Good
heavens! My dear father--my dear mother----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Coming to earth._] Eh?

BERTRAM.

[_Agitatedly._] My sister will pack her trunks and be off to an hotel
if you're not careful. She won't stand this, I mean t'say. There'll be
a marriage at the registrar's, or some ghastly proceeding--a
scandal--all kinds of gossip----!

LADY FILSON.

[_Throwing down her pen and rising--holding her heart._] Oh----!

BERTRAM.

[_With energy._] I mean to say----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ LADY FILSON, _blankly._] Winnie----?

LADY FILSON.

R-Randle----?

SIR RANDLE.

[_Biting his nails._] He's right. [BERTRAM _hastens to the glazed
door._] Dear Bertram is right.

BERTRAM.

[_Opening the door._] You'll see him----?

LADY FILSON.

Y-yes.

SIR RANDLE.

Yes. [BERTRAM _disappears._ SIR RANDLE _paces the room at the back,
waving his arms._] Oh! Oh!

LADY FIL