60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

adding) It’s not good for your liver, Craven, to rush about immediately after lunch.

      CUTHBERTSON. His liver’s cured. Come on. Craven. (He opens the door.)

      CHARTERIS (catching Cuthbertson by the sleeve). Cuthbertson, you’re mad. Paramore’s going to propose to Julia. We must give him time: he’s not the man to come to the point in three minutes as you or I would. (Turning to Craven) Don’t you see? — that will get me out of the difficulty we were speaking of this morning — you and I and Cuthbertson. You remember?

      CRAVEN. Now, is this a thing to say plump out before everybody, Charteris? Confound it, have you no decency?

      CUTHBERTSON (severely). None whatever.

      CHARTERIS (turning to Cuthbertson). No — don’t be unkind, Cuthbertson. Back me up. My future, her future, Mrs. Tranfield’s future, Craven’s future, everybody’s future depends on our finding Julia Paramore’s affianced bride when we go over to Savile Row. He’s certain to propose if you’ll only give him time. You know you’re a kindly and sensible man as well as a deucedly clever one, Cuthbertson, in spite of all your nonsense. Say a word for me.

      CRAVEN. I’m quite willing to leave the decision to Cuthbertson; and I have no doubt whatever as to what that decision will be. (Cuthbertson carefully shuts the door, and comes back into the room with an air of weighty reflection.)

      CUTHBERTSON. I am now going to speak as a man of the world: that is, without moral responsibility.

      CRAVEN. Quite so, Jo. Of course.

      CUTHBERTSON. Therefore, though I have no sympathy whatever with Charteris’s views, I think we can do no harm by waiting — say ten minutes or so. (He sits down.)

      CHARTERIS (delighted). Ah, there’s nobody like you after all, Cuthbertson, when there’s a difficult situation to be judged.

      CRAVEN (deeply disappointed). Oh, well, Jo, if that is your decision, I must keep my word and abide by it. Better sit down and make ourselves comfortable, I suppose. (He sits also, under protest.)

      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.)

      ACT IV

       Table of Contents

      Sittingroom 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.

      Paramore is seated in a round-backed chair, on castors, pouring out tea. Julia sits opposite him, with her back to the fire. He is in high spirits: she very downcast.

      PARAMORE (handing her the cup he has just filled). There! Making tea is one of the few things I consider myself able to do thoroughly well. Cake?

      JULIA. No, thank you. I don’t like sweet things. (She sets down the cup untasted.)

      PARAMORE. Anything wrong with the tea?

      JULIA. No, it’s very nice.

      PARAMORE. I’m afraid I’m a very bad entertainer. The fact is, I’m too professional. I only shine in consultation. I almost wish you had something the matter with you; so that you might call out my knowledge and sympathy. As it is, I can only admire you, and feel how pleasant it is to have you here.

      JULIA (bitterly). And pet me, and say pretty things to me! I wonder you don’t offer me a saucer of milk at once?

      PARAMORE (astonished). Why?

      JULIA. Because you seem to regard me very much as if I were a Persian cat.

      PARAMORE (in strong remonstrance). Miss Cra —

      JULIA (cutting him short). Oh, you needn’t protest. I’m used to it: It’s the only sort of attachment I seem always to inspire. (Ironically) You can’t think how flattering it is!

      PARAMORE. My dear Miss Craven, what a cynical thing to say! You! who are loved at first sight by the people in the street as you pass. Why, in the club I can tell by the faces of the men whether you have been lately in the room or not.

      JULIA (shrinking fiercely). Oh, I hate that look in their faces. Do you know that I have never had one human being care for me since I was born?

      PARAMORE. That’s not true, Miss Craven. Even if it were true of your father, and of Charteris, who loves you madly in spite of your dislike for him, it is not true of me.

      JULIA (startled). Who told you that about Charteris?

      PARAMORE. Why, he himself.

      JULIA (with deep, poignant conviction). He cares for only one person in the world; and that is himself. There is not in his whole nature one unselfish spot. He would not spend one hour of his real life with — (a sob chokes her: she rises passionately, crying) You are all alike, every one of you. Even my father only makes a pet of me. (She goes away to the fireplace and stands with her back to him.)

      PARAMORE (following her humbly). I don’t deserve this from you: indeed I do not.

      JULIA (rating him). Then why do you talk about me with Charteris, behind my back?

      PARAMORE. We said nothing disparaging of you. Nobody shall ever do that in my presence. We spoke of the subject nearest our hearts.

      JULIA.