Only common consideration for poor
Paramore.
CUTHBERTSON. You've some motive. Craven: I strongly advise that we go
at once. (He grasps the door handle.)
CHARTERIS (coaxingly). No, no. (He puts his hand persuasively on
Craven's arm, adding) It's not good for your liver, Craven, to rush
about immediately after lunch.
CUTHBERTSON. His liver's cured. Come on. Craven. (He opens the door.)
CHARTERIS (catching Cuthbertson by the sleeve). Cuthbertson, you're
mad. Paramore's going to propose to Julia. We must give him time: he's
not the man to come to the point in three minutes as you or I would.
(Turning to Craven) Don't you see?--that will get me out of the
difficulty we were speaking of this morning--you and I and
Cuthbertson. You remember?
CRAVEN. Now, is this a thing to say plump out before everybody,
Charteris? Confound it, have you no decency?
CUTHBERTSON (severely). None whatever.
CHARTERIS (turning to Cuthbertson). No--don't be unkind, Cuthbertson.
Back me up. My future, her future, Mrs. Tranfield's future, Craven's
future, everybody's future depends on our finding Julia Paramore's
affianced bride when we go over to Savile Row.
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