der her breath._] Ho----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To her._] My dear----! [_To_ PHILIP.] On the other hand, Mr. Mackworth,
as you are probably aware, my daughter is--no, I won't say a rich
woman--I will say comfortably provided for; _not_ by the late Comte de
Chaumie, but by myself. [_Closing his eyes._] I have never been a
niggardly parent, Mr. Mackworth.

OTTOLINE.

[_Softly, without turning._] Indeed, no, Dad!

PHILIP.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE, _bluntly._] Yes, I _do_ know of the settlement you
made upon Ottoline on her marriage, and of your having supplemented it
when she became a widow. Very handsome of you.

LADY FILSON.

[_As before._] Ha!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Leaning back in his chair._] _There_ then, my dear Mr. Mackworth, is
the state of the case. Ottoline is beyond our control----

LADY FILSON.

Unhappily.

SIR RANDLE.

If she _will_ deal this crushing blow to her mother and myself, we must
bow our heads to it. But, for the sake of your self-esteem, I beg you
to reflect! [_Partly to_ PHILIP, _partly at_ OTTOLINE.] What
construction would be put upon a union between you and Madame de
Chaumie--between a lady of means and--I _must_ be cruel--I _must_ be
brutal--a man who is--commercially at least--a failure?

LADY FILSON.

There _could_ only be one construction put upon it!

OTTOLINE.

[_Rising._] Mother----!

PHILIP.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE, _calmly._] Oh, but--ah, Ottoline hasn't told you----!

OTTOLINE.

[_To_ PHILIP.] No, I hadn't time, Philip----

PHILIP.

My dear Sir Randle--[_rising and going to_ LADY FILSON]--my dear Lady
Filson--let me dispel your anxiety for the preservation of my
self-esteem. Ottoline and I have no idea of getting married yet awhile.

OTTOLINE.

No, mother.

LADY FILSON.

When, pray----?

PHILIP.

We have agreed to wait until I have ceased to be--commercially--a
failure.

OTTOLINE.

[_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Until he has obtained public
recognition; [_coming forward_] until, in fact, eve