PHILIP. Rumour has it that there are at least a dozen ardent admirers at your feet, each with a wedding-ring in his waistcoat-pocket. OTTOLINE. [_Reproachfully, her eyes meeting his._] Why, have you been listening to tittle-tattle as well as studying newspaper paragraphs! [_He bows, good-humouredly._] My dear Philip, allowing for exaggeration, granting that my _soupirants_ number _half_-a-dozen, which of them would enable me to fill my lungs with fresh air? Who _are_ they, these enterprising men----? PHILIP. [_Leaving her abruptly and going to the mantelpiece._] Oh, pray don't ask _me_! I don't know who the fellows are--except--they say--Sir Timothy Barradell---- OTTOLINE. [_Lightly but softly._] Sir Timothy! Sir Timothy has only just succeeded in fighting his way into the world I'm sick and tired of! [_Shaking her head._] Poor Sir Tim! [_Pityingly._] Ha, ha, ha, ha! PHILIP. [_His back towards her._] Otto---- OTTOLINE. Yes? PHILIP. What sort of world would you be willing to exchange for your present one, my dear? OTTOLINE. What sort----? PHILIP. What sort--spiritual and material? OTTOLINE. [_Resting her elbow upon the arm of her chair and her chin upon her hand, musingly._] Oh, I believe any world would content me that's totally different from the world I've lived in so long; any world that isn't flat and stale and stifling; that isn't made up of shams, and petty aims and appetites; any world that--well, such a world as you used to picture, Phil, when you preached your gospel to a selfish, common girl under the chestnuts in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees! [_Half laughing, half sighing._] Ha, la, la, la! [_Again there is a pause, and then he walks to the further window and gazes into the street once more._ PHILIP. [_In a low voice._] Ten years ago, Otto! OTTOLINE. Ten years ago! PHILIP. [_Partly in jest, partly seriously._] Do the buds still sprout on those trees in the Allee de Longchamp and the Champs-Elysees, can you tell me? OTTOLINE. [_Falling in with his humour._] Ha, ha! Every spring, _cher ami_, regularly. PHILIP. And the milk at the Cafe d'Armenonville and the Pre-Catelan--is it still rich and delectable? OTTOLINE. To the young, I assume; scarcely to the aged widow----! PHILIP. Or the grey-haired scribbler! Ha, ha, ha, ha! OTTOLINE. Ha, ha, ha, ha----!