ROOPE. Hey? PHILIP. You'll scarcely credit it. One evening, while I was at work, Ottoline turned up with her maid at my lodgings in the Rue Soufflot, sent the maid out of the room, and proposed that I should "mention" her family in my letters to the _Whitehall_. ROOPE. Mention them? PHILIP. Drag in allusions to 'em constantly--their entertainments and so forth; boom them, in fact. ROOPE. Was that the cause of the--the final----? PHILIP. [_Nodding._] Yes. The following week her engagement to de Chaumie was announced. ROOPE. [_After a slight pause._] Well, in spite of all this, I'm convinced she was genuinely attached to you, Phil--as fond of you as you were of her. PHILIP. [_Resting his head on his hands._] Oh, shut up! ROOPE. Anyhow, here's an opportunity of testing it, dear excellent friend. She's been a widow twelve months; you need have no delicacy on that score. PHILIP. [_Looking up._] Why, do you suggest----? ROOPE. Certainly; and without delay. I hear there's a shoal of men after her, including Tim Barradell. PHILIP. [_With a grim smile._] "Bacon" Barradell? ROOPE. [_Assentingly._] They say Sir Timothy's in constant attendance. PHILIP. And what chance, do you imagine, would a poor literary cove stand against a real live baronet--and the largest bacon-curer in Ireland? ROOPE. [_Rubbing his chin._] You never know. Women are romantic creatures. She _might_ prefer the author of those absorbing works of fiction whose pages often wrap up Tim Barradell's rashers. PHILIP. [_Rising._] Ha, ha, ha! [_Giving himself a shake._] Even so it can't be done, Robbie; though I'm grateful to you for your amiable little plot. [_Walking about._] Heavens above, if Ottoline married me, she'd be puffing my wares on the sly before the honeymoon was half over! ROOPE. And a jolly good job too. [_Moving to the left, peevishly._] The truth is, my dear Phil, you're a crank--an absolute crank--on the subject of the--ah--the natural desire of some people to keep themselves in the public eye. Mercy on us, if it comes to that, _I'm_ an advertiser! PHILIP. If it comes to that, you miserable old sinner, you _are_. ROOPE.