LADY FILSON.

_Has_ she!

SIR TIMOTHY.

The best--and, for me, the worst--of reasons. There's another man in
the case.

SIR RANDLE.

Another----?

LADY FILSON.

Another----!

SIR RANDLE.

[_To_ LADY FILSON.] Extraordinary!

LADY FILSON.

Bewildering.

SIR RANDLE.

We have been blind, Winnie.

LADY FILSON.

Absolutely.

SIR TIMOTHY.

And, whoever he may be, I trust he'll worship her as devoutly as I do,
and treat her with half the gentleness _I'd_ have treated her with, had
she selected _me_ for her Number Two.

SIR RANDLE.

[_Piously._] Amen! [_To_ LADY FILSON.] Winifred----?

LADY FILSON.

[_Rather fretfully._] Amen.

SIR TIMOTHY.

[_Rising._] And with that sentiment on my lips, and in every fibre of
my body, I'll relieve you of my depressing company. [_Going to_ LADY
FILSON, _who rises at his approach, and taking her hand._] My dear
lady----

LADY FILSON.

[_Genuinely._] My dear Sir Timothy!

SIR RANDLE.

[_Moving to the glazed door._] Painful! Painful!

[_As_ SIR TIMOTHY _turns from_ LADY FILSON, BERTRAM
_reappears, in morning-dress, entering from the hall._

BERTRAM.

[_Drawing back on seeing_ SIR TIMOTHY.] Oh! [_To_ SIR RANDLE.] Am I
intruding?

SIR RANDLE.

Come in, my boy. You're just in time to give a parting grasp of the
hand to our friend here.

BERTRAM.

[_Advancing to_ SIR TIMOTHY, _surprised._] Parting----?

LADY FILSON.

[_To_ BERTRAM.] Sir Timothy is going abroad, Bertram.

BERTRAM.

Really? [_To_ SIR TIMOTHY.] Er--on business?

SIR TIMOTHY.

Well, not precisely on pleasure. [_Shaking hands with_ BERTRAM.]
Good-bye to you.

BERTRAM.

[_Puzzled._] Good-bye. [SIR TIMOTHY _makes a final bow to_ LADY FILSON
_and departs, followed by_ SIR RANDLE, _who leaves the door open._
BERTRAM _turns to_ LADY FILS