(Cuthbertson
flings away with an exclamation of disgust.)
CRAVEN. Then I'm sorry for your manners, Charteris: that's all. (He
turns away sulkily; then suddenly fires up and turns on Charteris.)
How dare you tell me my daughter wants to marry you. Who are you,
pray, that she should have any such ambition?
CHARTERIS. Just so; she couldn't have made a worse choice. But she
won't listen to reason. I've talked to her like a father myself--I
assure you, my dear Craven, I've said everything that you could have
said; but it's no use: she won't give me up. And if she won't listen
to me, what likelihood is there of her listening to you?
CRAVEN (in angry bewilderment). Cuthbertson: did you ever hear
anything like this?
CUTHBERTSON. Never! Never!
CHARTERIS. Oh, bother? Come, don't behave like a couple of
conventional old fathers: this is a serious affair. Look at these
letters (producing a letter and a letter-card.) This (showing the
card) is from Grace--by the way, Cuthbertson, I wish you'd ask her not
to write on letter-cards: the blue colour makes it so easy for Julia
to pick the bits out of my waste paper basket and piece them together.
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