PARAMORE (gravely). Excuse me; but my self-respect is dearer to me
even than Miss Craven. I cannot trifle with scientific questions for
the sake of a personal advantage. (He turns away coldly and goes
toward the table.)
CHARTERIS. Well, this beats me! The nonconformist conscience is bad
enough; but the scientific conscience is the very devil. (He follows
Paramore and puts his arm familiarly round his shoulder, bringing him
back again whilst he speaks.) Now look here, Paramore: I've got no
conscience in that sense at all: I loathe it as I loathe all the
snares of idealism; but I have some common humanity and common sense.
(He replaces him in the easy chair and sits down opposite him.) Come:
what is a really scientific theory?--a true theory, isn't it?
PARAMORE. No doubt.
CHARTERIS. For instance, you have a theory about Craven's liver, eh?
PARAMORE. I still believe that to be a true theory, though it has been
upset for the moment.
CHARTERIS. And you have a theory that it would be pleasant to be
married to Julia?
PARAMORE. I suppose so--in a sense.
CHARTERIS. That theory also will be upset, probably, before you're a
year older.
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