the mantelpiece and stares at the flowers in the grate.

Philip.

[Almost inaudibly.] Oh, Otto!

Ottoline.

[Wiping a tear from her cheek.] Heigh, dear me! Whenever I go over the past, and that's not seldom, I can't help thinking you might have been a little gentler with me—a girl of three-and-twenty—and have made allowances. [Blowing her nose.] What was Dad before he went out to Buenos Aires with his wife and children; only a junior partner in a small concern in the City! Wasn't it natural that, when he came back to Europe, prosperous but a nobody, he should be eager to elbow himself into a respectable social position, and that his belongings should have caught the fever?

Philip.

[Wretchedly.] Yes—yes——

Ottoline.

[Rising and wandering to the writing-table.] First we descended upon Paris—you know; but Paris didn't respond very satisfactorily. Plenty of smart men flocked round us—la belle Mademoiselle Filson drew them to the Avenue Montaigne!——

Philip.

[Under his breath, turning.] T'scht!

Ottoline.

But the women were either hopelessly bourgeoises or slightly déclassée. [Inspecting some of the pieces of bric-à-brac upon the table.] Which decided us to attack London—and induced me to pay my call on you in the Rue Soufflot——

Philip.

I understand.

Ottoline.

To coax you to herald us in your weekly causeries. [Wincing.] Horrible of me, that was; horrible, horrible, horrible! [Replacing an object upon the table and moving to the other side of the room.] However, I wasn't destined to share the earliest of the London triumphs. [Bitterly.] Mine awaited me in Paris, and at Vaudemont-Baudricourt, as the Comtesse de Chaumié! [Shivering.] Ugh-h-h-h——!

[She is about to sit in the chair on the left when he comes to her impulsively and restrains her.

Philip.

My poor girl——!

Ottoline.

[With abandon.] Ah——!

Philip.

My poor dear girl!

Ottoline.

It's a relief to me to open my heart to you, Philip. [He leads her to the fauteuil-stool.] Robbie won't interrupt us yet awhile, will he?

Philip.

We'll kick him out if he does. [They sit, close together, upon the fauteuil-stool.] Oh, but he won't! This is a deep-laid plot of the old chap's——

Ottoline.

Plot?

Philip.

To invite us here to-day, you and me, to—to——

Ottoline.

Amener un rapprochement?

Philip.

Exactly.

Ottoline.

[Softly.] Ha, ha! Dear old Robbie! [He laughs with her.] Dear, dear old Robbie! [Her laughter dies out, leaving her with a serious, appealing face.] Phil——

Philip.

Eh?

Ottoline.

Your sneer—your sneer about me and the papers——

Philip.

Sneer?

Ottoline.

I detected it. Almost the first thing you said to me when I arrived was that you'd been gathering news of me lately from the papers!

Philip.

[Gently.] Forgive me.

Ottoline.

It's been none of my doing; I've finished with le snobbisme entirely. [Pleadingly.] You don't doubt me?

Philip.

[Patting her hand.] No—no.

Ottoline.

Nowadays I detest coming across my name in print. But my people—[with a little moue] they will persist in——!

Philip.

Beating the big drum?

Ottoline.

Ha! [Brushing her hair from her brow fretfully.] Oh! Oh, Phil, it was blindness on my part to return to them—sheer blindness!

Philip.

Blindness?

Ottoline.

They've been urging me to do it ever since my husband's death; so I had ample time to consider the step. But I didn't realize, till I'd settled down in Ennismore Gardens, how thoroughly I——