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[LADY FILSON _rises and almost runs to the writing-table, where she sits and s.n.a.t.c.hes at a sheet of paper._ SIR RANDLE _follows her and stands beside her._
BERTRAM.
[_Reclining upon the settee on the left._] Lady Blanche Finnis----
LADY FILSON.
[_Seizing her pen._] Wait; don't be so quick! [_Writing._] "Hon. Sybil Maundrell----"
[_The glazed door is opened softly and_ OTTOLINE _enters. She pauses, looking at the group at the writing-table._
SIR RANDLE.
[To LADY FILSON, as she writes.] Lady Eva Sherringham----
BERTRAM.
Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe----
LADY FILSON.
[_Writing._] "Lady Eva Sherringham--Ladies Lilian and Constance Foxe----"
BERTRAM.
Lady Irene Pallant----
SIR RANDLE.
I _pray_ there may be no captious opposition from Ottoline.
LADY FILSON.
Surely she doesn't want to be married like a middle-cla.s.s widow from Putney! [_Writing._] "Lady Blanche Finnis----"
BERTRAM.
If pages are permissible--to carry my sister's train, I mean t'say----
SIR RANDLE.
Pages--yes, yes----
BERTRAM.
There are the two Galbraith boys--little Lord Wensleydale and his brother Herbert.
LADY FILSON.
[_Writing._] Such picturesque children!
SIR RANDLE.
I doubt whether the bare civilities which have pa.s.sed between ourselves and Lord and Lady Galbraith----
LADY FILSON.
They are country neighbours.
BERTRAM.
No harm in approaching them, my dear father. I mean to _say_----!
[OTTOLINE _shuts the door with a click._ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON _turn, startled, and_ LADY FILSON _slips the list into a drawer._
SIR RANDLE.
[_Benignly._] Otto?
OTTOLINE.
[_In a steady voice._] Sorry to disturb you all over your elaborate preparations, Dad. I see Sir Timothy has saved me the trouble of breaking the news.
SIR RANDLE.
Y-you----?
OTTOLINE.
[_Nodding._] You were too absorbed. I couldn't help listening.
SIR RANDLE.
Ahem! Sir Timothy didn't _volunteer_ the information, Ottoline----
OTTOLINE.
_Peu m'importe!_ [_Advancing, smiling on one side of her mouth._] What a grand wedding you are planning for me! _Quel projets mirifiques!_
SIR RANDLE.
[_Embarra.s.sed._] Your dear mother was--er--merely jotting down----
OTTOLINE.
[_Pa.s.sing her hands over her face and walking to the settee on the right._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----!
LADY FILSON.
