Charteris (fidgeting about).  I can’t sit down:  I’m too restless.  The fact is, Julia has made me so nervous that I can’t answer for myself until I know her decision.  Mrs. Tranfield will tell you what a time I’ve had lately.  Julia’s really a most determined woman, you know.

Craven (starting up).  Well, upon my life!  Upon my honor and conscience!!  Now really!!!  I shall go this instant.  Come on, Sylvia.  Cuthbertson:  I hope you’ll mark your sense of this sort of thing by coming on to Paramore’s with us at once. (He marches to the door.)

Charteris (desperately).  Craven:  you’re trifling with your daughter’s happiness.  I only ask five minutes more.

Craven.  Not five seconds, sir.  Fie for shame, Charteris! (He goes out.)

Cuthbertson (to Charteris, as he passes him on his way to the door).  Bungler! (He follows Craven.)

Sylvia.  Serve you right, you duffer! (She follows Cuthbertson.)

Charteris.  Oh, these headstrong old men! (To Grace) Nothing to be done now but go with them and delay the Colonel as much as possible.  So I’m afraid I must leave you.

Grace (rising).  Not at all.  Paramore invited me, too, when we were talking over there.

Charteris (aghast).  You don’t mean to say you’re coming!

Grace.  Most certainly.  Do you suppose I will let that woman think I am afraid to meet her? (Charteris sinks on a chair with a prolonged groan.) Come:  don’t be silly:  you’ll not overtake the Colonel if you delay any longer.

Charteris.  Why was I ever born, child of misfortune that I am! (He rises despairingly.) Well, if you must come, you must. (He offers his arm, which she takes.) By the way, what happened after I left you?

Grace.  I gave her a lecture on her behavior which she will remember to the last day of her life.

Charteris (approvingly).  That was right, darling. (He slips his arm round her waist.) Just one kiss—­to soothe me.

Grace (complacently offering her cheek).  Foolish boy! (He kisses her.) Now come along. (They go out together.)

END OF ACT III.

ACT IV

Sitting-room in Paramore’s apartments in Savile Row.  The darkly respectable furniture is, so to speak, en suite with Paramore’s frock coat and cuffs.  Viewing the room from the front windows, the door is seen in the opposite wall near the left hand corner.  Another door, a light, noiseless partition one covered with a green baize, is in the right hand wall toward the back, leading to Paramore’s consulting room.  The fireplace is on the left.  At the nearest corner of it a couch is placed at right angles to the wall, settlewise.  On the right the wall is occupied by a bookcase, further forward than the green baize door.  Beyond the door is a cabinet of anatomical preparations, with a framed photograph of Rembrandt’s School of Anatomy hanging on the wall above it.  In front, a little to the right, a tea-table.