[_Emphatically._] It will _not_. [_Beaming._] I told you a lie. I've _no_ business with my lawyers. I came here expressly to improve my acquaintance with the man who's to be your husband, and for no other purpose. [_They all laugh merrily._ OTTOLINE. Ha, ha, ha! [_To_ SIR TIMOTHY.] Wait for me in South Square, then. I sha'n't be many minutes. SIR TIMOTHY. [_Going into the vestibule._] Ah, I'd wait an eternity! [PHILIP _and_ SIR TIMOTHY _shake hands once more, and then_ PHILIP _lets_ SIR TIMOTHY _out._ PHILIP. [_As he shuts the outer door._] By George, he's a splendid chap! [_He comes back into the room, closes the vestibule door, and advances to_ OTTOLINE _and stands before her humbly._] Oh, Ottoline--oh, my dear girl! Shall I go down on my knees to you? OTTOLINE. [_In a subdued tone._] If you do, I shall have to kneel to _you_, Phil. PHILIP. [_Slowly folding her in his arms._] Ah! Ah! Ah! [_In her ear._] What a night I've spent! OTTOLINE. [_Almost inaudibly._] And I! [_He seats her upon the settee on the right and sits beside her, linking his hand in hers._ PHILIP. How merciful this is of you! I've just sent you a letter by Robbie Roope, begging you to see me; you've missed him. [_Smiling._] It isn't as eloquent as some I started writing at five o'clock this morning. Would you like to hear it? [_She nods. He recites his note tenderly._] "Forgive me. I forgive you. When may I come to you?" That's all. OTTOLINE. _Isn't_ that eloquent, Phil? PHILIP. [_Smiling again._] It's concise--and as long as you forgive me--[_eyeing her with a shadow of fear_] you're _sure_ you've forgiven me? OTTOLINE. Sure. PHILIP. [_Persistently._] Without reserve? OTTOLINE. Should I be here--[_indicating their proximity_] and _here_--if I hadn't? PHILIP. [_Pressing her hand to his lips ardently, and then freeing her shoulders from her coat._] Take this off---- OTTOLINE. [_Gently resisting._] Poor Sir Timothy----! PHILIP. [_In high spirits._] Oh, a little exercise won't do Sir Timothy any harm! [_Helping her to slip her arms out of her coat._] Dash it, you might have let _me_ escort you to Bond Street! OTTOLINE. No, no; your work---- PHILIP. [_His brow clouding._] W-w-work----? OTTOLINE. You mustn't lose your morning's work.