I must say I prefer the elder Miss Craven to her sister.
CUTHBERTSON (his eyes lighting up). Ah, Julia! I believe you. A
splendid fine creature--every inch a woman. No Ibsenism about her!
PARAMORE. I quite agree with you there, Mr. Cuthbertson. Er--by the
way, do you think is Miss Craven attached to Charteris at all?
CUTHBERTSON. What, that fellow! Not he. He hangs about after her; but
he's not man enough for her. A woman of that sort likes a strong,
manly, deep-throated, broad-chested man.
PARAMORE (anxiously). Hm, a sort of sporting character, you think?
CUTHBERTSON. Oh, no, no. A scientific man, perhaps, like yourself. But
you know what I mean--a MAN. (Strikes himself a sounding blow on the
chest.)
PARAMORE. Of course; but Charteris is a man.
CUTHBERTSON. Pah! you don't see what I mean. (The Page Boy returns
with his salver.)
PAGE BOY (calling monotonously as before). Mr. Cuthbertson, Mr.
Cuthbertson, Mr. Cuth--
CUTHBERTSON. Here, boy. (He takes a card from the salver.) Bring the
gentleman up here. (The boy goes out.) It's Craven. He's coming to
lunch with me and Charteris. You might join us if you've nothing
better to do, when you've finished with the instrument man.
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