Charteris.  She made me.  Why, I had to guarantee Cuthbertson as unmanly; and he’s the leading representative of manly sentiment in London.

Craven.  That didn’t do Jo any harm:  but it took away my Julia’s character.

Julia (outraged).  Daddy!

Charteris.  Not at the Ibsen club, quite the contrary.  After all, what can we do?  You know what breaks up most clubs for men and women.  There’s a quarrel—­a scandal—­cherchez la femme—­always a woman at the bottom of it.  Well, we knew this when we founded the club; but we noticed that the woman at the bottom of it was always a womanly woman.  The unwomanly women who work for their living and know how to take care of themselves never give any trouble.  So we simply said we wouldn’t have any womanly women; and when one gets smuggled in she has to take care not to behave in a womanly way.  We get on all right. (He rises.) Come to lunch with me there tomorrow and see the place.

Cuthbertson (rising).  No, he’s engaged to me.  But you can join us.

Charteris.  What hour?

Cuthbertson.  Any time after twelve. (To Craven) It’s at 90 Cork street, at the other end of the Burlington Arcade.

Craven (making a note). 90, you say.  After twelve. (He suddenly relapses into gloom.) By the bye, don’t order anything special for me.  I’m not allowed wine—­only Apollinaris.  No meat either—­only a scrap of fish occasionally.  I’m to have a short life, but not a merry one.  (Sighing.) Well, well. (Bracing himself up.) Now, Julia, it’s time for us to be off. (Julia rises.)

Cuthbertson.  But where on earth is Grace?  I must go and look for her.  (He turns to the door.)

Julia (stopping him).  Oh, pray don’t disturb her, Mr. Cuthbertson.  She’s so tired.

Cuthbertson.  But just for a moment to say good night. (Julia and Charteris look at one another in dismay.  Cuthbertson looks quickly at them, perceiving that something is wrong.)

Charteris.  We must make a clean breast of it, I see.

Cuthbertson.  Clean breast?

Charteris.  The truth is, Cuthbertson, Mrs. Tranfield, who is, as you know, the most thoughtful of women, took it into her head that I—­well, that I particularly wanted to speak to Miss Craven alone.  So she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Craven (scandalized).  Tut! tut!

Cuthbertson.  Oho! is that it?  Then it’s all right.  She never goes to bed as early as this.  I’ll fetch her in a moment. (He goes out confidently, leaving Charteris aghast.)

Julia.  Now you’ve done it. (She rushes to the round table and snatches up her mantle and bonnet.) I’m off. (She makes for the door.)

Craven (horrified).  What are you doing, Julia?  You can’t go until you’ve said good night to Mrs. Tranfield.  It would be horribly rude.