That is so, Sir Randle--if you and Lady Filson will have the patience---- [SIR RANDLE _motions_ PHILIP _to the settee on the right._ PHILIP _sits. Then_ OTTOLINE _sits on the settee before the fireplace, and_ SIR RANDLE _in the arm-chair by_ PHILIP. LADY FILSON _turns in her chair to listen._ SIR RANDLE. [_To_ PHILIP, _majestically._] Before you embark upon your explanation, permit me to define _my_ position--mine and Lady Filson's. [PHILIP _nods._] I am going to make a confession to you; and I should like to feel that I am making it as one gentleman to another. [PHILIP _nods again._] Mr. Mackworth, Lady Filson and I are ambitious people. Not for ourselves. For ourselves, all we desire is rest and retirement--[_closing his eyes_] if it were possible, obscurity. But where our children are concerned, it is different; and, to be frank--I _must_ be frank--we had hoped that, in the event of Ottoline remarrying, she would contract such a marriage as is commonly described as brilliant. PHILIP. [_Dryly._] Such a marriage as her marriage to Monsieur de Chaumie, for example. SIR RANDLE. [_Closing his eyes._] _De mortuis_, Mr. Mackworth! I must decline---- PHILIP. I merely wished, as a basis of argument, to get at your exact interpretation of brilliancy. SIR RANDLE. [_Dismissing the point with a wave of the hand._] It is easy for you, therefore, as you have already intimated, to judge what are our sensations at receiving my daughter's communication. PHILIP. [_Nodding._] They are distinctly disagreeable. SIR RANDLE. [_Conscientiously._] They are--I won't exaggerate--I mustn't exaggerate--they are not far removed from dismay. LADY FILSON. Utter dismay. SIR RANDLE. [_Shifting his chair--to_ PHILIP.] I learn--I learn from Ottoline that you have forsaken the field of journalism, Mr. Mackworth, and now devote yourself exclusively to creative work? [_Another nod from_ PHILIP.] But you have not--to use my daughter's phrase--up to the present--er---- PHILIP. [_Nursing his leg._] Please go on. SIR RANDLE. You have not been eminently successful? PHILIP. Not yet. Not with the wide public. No; not yet. SIR RANDLE. Forgive me--any private resources? PHILIP. None worth mentioning. Two-hundred-a-year, left me by an old aunt. LADY FILSON. [_Under her breath._] Ho----! SIR RANDLE.