[_Searching for her handkerchief._] Where--where have you----? OTTOLINE. I met him yesterday at Robbie Roope's, at lunch. [LADY FILSON _finds her handkerchief and applies it to her eyes._] Oh, there's no need to cry, mother dear. For mercy's sake----! LADY FILSON. Oh, Otto! [_Rising and crossing to the settee on the right, whimpering._] Oh, Randle! [_To_ BERTRAM, _who comes to her._] Oh, my boy! SIR RANDLE. [_Gazing blinkingly at the ceiling as_ LADY FILSON _sinks upon the settee._] Incredible! Incredible! BERTRAM. [_Sitting beside_ LADY FILSON, _dazed._] My dear mother----! OTTOLINE. [_Starting up._] Oh, do try to be understanding and sympathetic! Mr. Mackworth is a high-souled, noble fellow. If I'd been honest with myself, I should have married him ten years ago. To me this is a golden dream come true. Recollect my bitter experience of the _other_ sort of marriage! [_Walking away to the fireplace._] Why grudge me a spark of romance in my life! SIR RANDLE. [_Raising his hands._] Romance! LADY FILSON. [_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ BERTRAM.] Just now she was resenting our considering her a child! OTTOLINE. [_Looking down upon the flowers in the grate._] Romance doesn't belong to youth, mother. Youth is greedy for reality--the toy that feels solid in its fingers. _I_ was, and bruised myself with it. After such a lesson as I've had, one yearns for something less tangible--something that lifts one morally out of oneself--an ideal----! SIR RANDLE. Ha! An extract from a novel of Mr. Mackworth's apparently! LADY FILSON. [_Harshly._] Ha, ha, ha, ha----! OTTOLINE. [_Turning sharply and coming forward._] Sssh! Don't you sneer, mother! Don't you sneer, Dad! [_Her eyes flashing._] _C'est au-dessus de vous de sentir ce qu'il y a d'eleve et de grand!_ [_Fiercely._] _Tenez! Qu'il vous plaise ou non----!_ [_She is checked by the entrance of_ UNDERWOOD _from the hall._ UNDERWOOD. [_Addressing the back of_ LADY FILSON_'s head._] Mr. Philip Mackworth, m'lady. LADY FILSON. [_Straightening herself._] Not for me. [_Firmly._] For Madame de Chaumie. UNDERWOOD. I beg pardon, m'lady. The gentleman inquired for your ladyship---- OTTOLINE. [_To_ UNDERWOOD.] In the drawing-room--[_with a queenly air_] no, in my own room. UNDERWOOD. [_To_ OTTOLINE.] Yes, mad'm. [UNDERWOOD _withdraws._ OTTOLINE. [_Approaching_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Dad--mother----? LADY FILSON.