eceded it----?

PHILIP.

Then I--then I fling another at 'em.

SIR RANDLE.

Which would occupy you----?

PHILIP.

Twelve months.

LADY FILSON.

And if _that_ fails----!

PHILIP.

[_Smiling again, but rather constrainedly._] Ah, you travel too quickly
for me, Lady Filson--you and Sir Randle! You heap disaster on
disaster----

SIR RANDLE.

If _that_ fails, another twelve-months' labour!

LADY FILSON.

While my daughter is wasting the best years of her life!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Indignantly._] Really, Mr. Mackworth! [_Throwing himself upon the
settee on the right._] Really! I appeal to you! Is this fair?

LADY FILSON.

Is it fair to Ottoline?

OTTOLINE.

_Absolument!_ So that it satisfies me to spend the best years of my
life in this manner, I don't see what anybody has to complain of. _Mon
Dieu!_ I am relieved to think that some of my best years are still mine
to squander!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ PHILIP, _who is standing by the writing-table in thought, a look
of disquiet on his face--persistently._] Mr. Mackworth----!

OTTOLINE.

[_Rising impatiently._] My dear Dad--my dear mother--I propose that we
postpone this discussion until Mr. Mackworth's new book _has_ failed to
attract the public, [_crossing to_ SIR RANDLE] and that in the meantime
he sha'n't be scowled at when he presents himself in Ennismore Gardens.
[_Seating herself beside_ SIR RANDLE _and slipping her arm through
his._] Dad----!

LADY FILSON.

[_To_ PHILIP.] Mr. Mackworth----!

PHILIP.

[_Rousing himself and turning to_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON_--abruptly._]
Look here, Sir Randle! Look here, Lady Filson! I own that this
arrangement between Ottoline and me is an odd one. It was arrived at
yesterday impulsively; and, in her interests, there _is_ a good deal to
be said against it.

LADY FILSON.

There's nothing to be said _for_ it. Oh----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ LADY FILSON.] Winifred--[_To_ PHILIP.] Well, Mr. Mackworth?

P