Charming woman, isn't she, Paramore?
(Looking admiringly at him.) How have you managed to fascinate her?
PARAMORE. I! Do you really mean-- (He looks at him; then recovers
himself and adds coldly.) Excuse me: this is a subject I do not care
to jest about. (He walks away from Charteris down the side of the
room, and sits down in an easy chair reading his Journal to intimate
that he does not wish to pursue the conversation.)
CHARTERIS (ignoring the hint and coolly taking a chair beside him).
Why don't you get married, Paramore? You know it's a scandalous thing
for a man in your profession to be single.
PARAMORE (shortly, still pretending to read). That's my own business,
not yours.
CHARTERIS. Not at all: it's pre-eminently a social question. You're
going to get married, aren't you?
PARAMORE. Not that I am aware of.
CHARTERIS (alarmed). No! Don't say that. Why?
PARAMORE (rising angrily and rapping one of the SILENCE placards).
Allow me to call your attention to that. (He crosses to the easy chair
near the revolving bookstand, and flings himself into it with
determined hostility.)
CHARTERIS (following him, too deeply concerned to mind the rebuff).
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