Here, boy. (The boy presents the
salver. Paramore takes the card and looks at it.) All right: I'll come
down to him. (The boy goes. Paramore rises, and comes from the recess,
throwing his paper on the table.) Good morning, Mr. Cuthbertson
(stopping to pull out his cuffs and shake his coat straight) Mrs.
Tranfield quite well, I hope?
SYLVIA (turning her head indignantly). Sh--sh--sh! (Paramore turns,
surprised. Cuthbertson rises energetically and looks across the
bookstand to see who is the author of this impertinence.)
PARAMORE (to Sylvia--stiffly). I beg your pardon, Miss Craven: I did
not mean to disturb you.
SYLVIA (flustered and self assertive). You may talk as much as you
like if you will only have the common consideration to first ask
whether the other people object. What I protest against is your
assumption that my presence doesn't matter because I'm only a female
member. That's all. Now go on, pray: you don't disturb me in the
least. (She turns to the fire, and again buries herself in Ibsen.)
CUTHBERTSON (with emphatic dignity). No gentleman would have dreamt of
objecting to our exchanging a few words, madam.
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