(Impressively.) Now,
Charteris, Paramore and you stand to-day where Cuthbertson and I stood
on a certain July evening thirty-five years ago. How are you going to
take it?
JULIA (indignantly). How is he going to take it, indeed! Really, papa,
this is too much. If Mrs. Cuthbertson wouldn't have you, it may have
been very noble of you to make a virtue of giving her up, just as you
made a virtue of being a teetotaller when Percy cut off your wine. But
he shan't be virtuous over me. I have refused him; and if he doesn't
like it he can--he can--
CHARTERIS. I can lump it. Precisely. Craven: you can depend on me.
I'll lump it. (He moves off nonchalantly, and leans against the
bookcase with his hands in his pockets.)
CRAVEN (hurt). Julia: you don't treat me respectfully. I don't wish to
complain; but that was not a becoming speech.
JULIA (bursting into tears and throwing herself into the large chair).
Is there anyone in the world who has any feeling for me--who does not
think me utterly vile? (Craven and Paramore hurry to her in the
greatest consternation.)
CRAVEN (remorsefully). My pet: I didn't for a moment mean--
JULIA.
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