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OTTOLINE.
[_To_ SIR RANDLE_--advancing a few steps, but leaving the door open._]
Are you and mother busy?
SIR RANDLE.
Not at all.
LADY FILSON.
[_Who has turned in her chair at_ OTTOLINE_'s entrance._] Not at all, Otto.
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ WESTRIP.] I will join you in the library, Mr. Westrip. [WESTRIP _withdraws at the door on the left, and_ SIR RANDLE _goes to_ OTTOLINE _and embraces her._] My dear child!
OTTOLINE.
[_In rather a strained voice._] Sir Timothy Barradell is here, Dad.
SIR RANDLE.
I heard he had called.
LADY FILSON.
So sweet of him to treat us informally!
OTTOLINE.
[_To_ LADY FILSON.] He would like to see you and Dad for a minute or two, mother----
LADY FILSON.
Charmed!
SIR RANDLE.
Delighted!
OTTOLINE.
Just to--just to bid you good-bye.
LADY FILSON.
Good-bye?
SIR RANDLE.
Good-bye?
OTTOLINE.
Yes; he's going away--abroad--for some months. [_With a motion of her head towards the hall._] He's in the hall. May I----?
LADY FILSON.
[_Rising._] Er--do.
SIR RANDLE.
Do.
OTTOLINE.
[_Returning to the door and calling._] Sir Timothy----!
[_There is a brief pause, during which_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _interrogate each other silently, and then_ SIR TIMOTHY BARRADELL _enters. He is a well-knit, pleasant-looking Irishman of about forty, speaking with a slight brogue._
LADY FILSON.
[_Advancing to greet him._] My dear Sir Timothy!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_As they shake hands._] And how's my lady this morning? Are you well?
OTTOLINE.
[_At the door._] I'll leave you----
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Turning to her hastily._] Ah--! [_Taking her hand._] I'm not to see you again?
OTTOLINE.
[_Shaking her head._] No. [_Smiling._] We've said good-bye upstairs.
[_Withdrawing her hand._] _Que Dieu vous protege!_ Good luck to you!
SIR TIMOTHY.
[_Ruefully._] Luck! [_In an undertone._] I've never had anything else till now; and now it's out entirely.
OTTOLINE.
[_Gently._] Shsssh----!
