ROSE. In my letter. Haven't you received it?

PHILIP. Yes, but I haven't had time to open it. (_produces it--breaks the seal--and replaces it in his pocket, unnoticed by SIR GEORGE_) And when I told you of my invitation here, you didn't tell me that you knew Sir George.

ROSE. Because I wanted to surprise you, dear.

PHILIP. Well, you have done so most effectually. Tell me, does Lady Carlyon know of our engagement?

ROSE. No, not yet. I never saw her till to-day, and I didn't like to be so confidential.

PHILIP. (_relieved_) Ah!

ROSE. You're not angry with me for not having told her?

PHILIP. Not at all. We will surprise _her._

ROSE. Shall we?

PHILIP. To-night we will pretend we are strangers.

ROSE. But I shall pretend very badly, I am sure.

PHILIP. Oh, you can keep a secret. You have shown me that.

ROSE. I'll try, at any rate.

SIR G. (_putting chair, C., into its place at desk_) Now, Miss Dalrymple, if you are at liberty, perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me what has become of my wife.

ROSE. (_going to him, C._) She'll be here directly. She is only speaking to the servants. (_kisses him_)

_Enter LADY CARLYON, L., also in evening dress, with a bouquet; she at once sees PHILIP and he her; PHILIP, R., turns full front to audience._

LADY C. (_aside_) Philip! (_stops short_)

SIR G. (_seeing her_) Ah, here she is! (_goes to her, L._) My dear, you don't look well!

LADY C. The theatre was so close.

SIR G. It always makes you ill. But you have not seen Philip.

(_indicates PHILIP_)

LADY C. Ah, Mr. Graham! (_advances C.--PHILIP advances to meet her_) Excuse me for not recognising you. (_they shake hands rather ceremoniously_)

SIR G. What has turned Philip into Mr. Graham, pray?

LADY C. He has not been to see us for so long.

PHILIP. Allow me. (_helps to remove her cloak_)

SIR G. No wonder, if you make a stranger of him when he comes. (_sits C._)

LADY C. If Philip is a stranger, he has made one of himself.

PHILIP. The fault is mine entirely. (_takes cloak_)

LADY C. Thanks.

_Goes L. again with bouquet and sits down--ROSE has meanwhile deposited her cloak at the farther end of the lounge--she takes the other cloak from PHILIP and flings it upon her own, then leans over the desk--PHILIP sits upon the end of the lounge._

SIR G. Well, how did you enjoy the play?

ROSE. Oh, so much, Uncle George! Although it was in French, I followed every word.

PHILIP. It is the French plays you have been to?

SIR G. What was the piece?

LADY C. "Une Chaine," by Eugene Scribe.

SIR G. I don't remember it.

ROSE. And it is so exciting. There is a young man in it--such a nice young man, with a moustache--oh, such a sweet moustache!

SIR G. Well?

ROSE. He's in love.

SIR G. Of course.

ROSE. With a young girl--oh, such a stupid girl! I can't think what he could have seen in her--and _she's_ in love with _him_.

SIR G. And they get married, I suppose.

ROSE. In the last act; but in the meantime there is such a to-do.

SIR G. Why?

ROSE. It appears, before the play began, the hero--the young man----

PHILIP. With the moustache----

ROSE. Had been in love with someone else.

SIR G. Ah!

ROSE. But now he doesn't care for her a bit.

SIR G. What is the difficulty, then?

ROSE. _She_ cares for _him_; and though he's trying through the whole four acts, do what he will, he can't get rid of her.