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[_Confused._] Oh, I--I----
ROOPE.
It's only half-past-three. Why don't you and Mackworth sit down and have a little talk together? [_To_ PHILIP, _who has strolled to the further window and is looking into the street._] You're in no hurry, Phil?
PHILIP.
Not in the least.
ROOPE.
[_Crossing to the writing-table._] I'll finish answering my letters; I sha'n't have a moment later on. [_Gathering up his correspondence._]
You won't disturb me; I'll polish 'em off in another room. [_To_ OTTOLINE.] Are you goin' to Lady Paulton's by-and-by, by any chance?
OTTOLINE.
[_Again at the fireplace, her back to_ ROOPE _and_ PHILIP.] And Mrs.
Jack Cathcart's--and Mrs. Le Roy's----
ROOPE.
You shall take me to Lowndes Square, if you will. [_Recrossing._]
Sha'n't be more than ten minutes. [_At the door._] Ten minutes, dear excellent friends. A quarter-of-an-hour at the outside.
[_He vanishes, closing the door. There is a pause, and then_ PHILIP _and_ OTTOLINE _turn to one another and he goes to her._
OTTOLINE.
[_Her hands in his, breathlessly._] You _are_ glad to see me, then!
[_Laughing shyly._] Ha, ha! You _are_ glad!
PHILIP.
[_Tenderly._] Yes.
OTTOLINE.
You brute, Phil, to make me behave in such an undignified way!
PHILIP.
If there's any question of dignity, what on earth has become of mine? I was the first to break down.
OTTOLINE.
To break down! Why should you try to treat me so freezingly? You can't be angry with me still, after all these years! _C'est pas possible!_
PHILIP.
It was stupid of me to attempt to hide my feelings. [_Pressing her hand to his lips._] But, my dear Otto--my dear girl--where's the use of our coming into each other's lives again?
OTTOLINE.
The use--? Why _shouldn't_ we be again as we were in the old Paris days--[_embarra.s.sed_] well, not quite, perhaps----?
PHILIP.
[_Smiling._] Oh, of course, if you command it, I am ready to buy some smart clothes, and fish for opportunities of meeting you occasionally on a crowded staircase or in a hot supper-room. But--as for anything else----
OTTOLINE.
[_Slowly withdrawing her hands and putting them behind her._] As for--anything else----?
PHILIP.
I repeat--_cui bono_? [_Regarding her kindly but penetratingly._] What would be the result of your reviving a friends.h.i.+p with an ill-tempered, intolerant person who would be just as capable to-morrow of turning upon you like a savage----?
OTTOLINE.
Ah, you _are_ still angry with me! [_With a change of tone._] As you did that evening, for instance, when I came with Nannette to your shabby little den in the Rue Soufflot----
PHILIP.
Precisely.
OTTOLINE.
[_Walking away to the front of the fauteuil-stool._] To beg you to _p.r.o.ner_ my father and mother in the journal you were writing for--what was the name of it?----
PHILIP.
[_Following her._] _The Whitehall Gazette._
OTTOLINE.
And you were polite enough to tell me that my cravings and ideals were low, pitiful, ign.o.ble!
PHILIP.
[_Regretfully._] You remember?
OTTOLINE.
[_Facing him._] As clearly as you do, my friend. [_Laying her hand upon his arm, melting._] Besides, they were true--those words--hideously true--as were many other sharp ones you shot at me in Paris. [_Turning from him._] Low--pitiful--ign.o.ble----!
PHILIP.
Otto----!
