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
_declassee_. [_Inspecting some of the pieces of bric-a-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 Chaumie! [_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'