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LADY FILSON.
That a son of mine should countenance----!
OTTOLINE.
[_Panting._] Oh, but this is--this is outrageous! [_To_ SIR RANDLE _and_ LADY FILSON.] Dad--mother--why should we degrade ourselves by listening any further? [_To_ PHILIP.] Philip----!
PHILIP.
[_Patting her shoulder soothingly._] Tsch, tsch, tsch----!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ LADY FILSON _and_ SIR RANDLE.] My dear mother--my dear father--you're so impatient!
PHILIP.
[_To_ OTTOLINE.] Tsch, tsch! Go back to the fire and toast your toes again.
BERTRAM.
I consider I was fully justified, I mean t'say----
[_Falteringly_ OTTOLINE _returns to the fireplace. She stands there for a few seconds, clutching the mantel-shelf, and then subsides into the chair before the fire._ PHILIP _advances to the settee on the right._
PHILIP.
[_To_ DUNNING.] Sorry we have checked your flow of eloquence, Mr.
Dunning, even for a moment. [_Sitting._] I wouldn't miss a syllable of it. [_Airily._] Do, please, continue.
SIR RANDLE.
[_Looking at his watch._] My dear Philip----!
BERTRAM.
[_To_ DUNNING, _wearily._] Oh, come to the man--what's his name, Dunning?--Merryweather----!
DUNNING.
[_Turning several pages of his note-book with his wet thumb._]
Merrifield.
BERTRAM.
Merrifield. [_Pa.s.sing behind_ DUNNING _and half-seating himself on the further end of the table on the left._] Skip everything in between; [_sarcastically_] my father and mother are dying for their dinner.
LADY FILSON.
Bertram!
DUNNING.
[_Finding the memorandum he is searching for, and quoting from it._]
Henry Merrifield--entry clerk to t.i.tterton--left t.i.tterton, after a row, on the fifteenth of the present month----
BERTRAM.
A stroke of luck--Mr. Merrifield--if ever there was one! I mean t'say----
DUNNING.
[_To everybody._] Having gleaned certain significant facts from the said Henry Merrifield, ladies and gentlemen, [_referring to his notes_]
I paid two visits last week to the offices of Messrs. Hopwood & Co., of 6, Carmichael Lane, Walbrook, described in fresh paint on their door as s.h.i.+pping and General Agents; and the conclusion I arrived at was that Messrs. Hopwood & Co. were a myth and their offices a blind, the latter consisting of a small room on the ground floor, eight foot by twelve, and their staff of the caretakers of the premises--Mr. and Mrs.
Sweasy--an old woman and her husband----
ROOPE.
[_To_ DUNNING.] If I may venture to interpose again, what on earth have Messrs. Hopwood----?
SIR RANDLE.
Yes, what have Messrs. Hopwood----?
BERTRAM.
[_Over his shoulder._] Ho! What have Messrs. Hopwood----!
ROOPE.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _pointing to_ DUNNING.] I am addressing _this_ gentleman, dear excellent friend----
DUNNING.
[_To_ ROOPE.] I'll tell you, sir. [_Incisively._] It's to the bogus firm of Hopwood & Co. that the bulk of the volumes of Mr. Mackworth's new book have been consigned.
BERTRAM.
[_Getting off the table, eagerly._] Dunning has seen them, I mean t'say----
SIR RANDLE.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _startled._] Be silent, Bertie!
LADY FILSON.
[_To_ BERTRAM, _holding her breath._] Do be quiet!
ROOPE.
