Craven (going up towards the table).  I’ll just take a look at the Times—­

Charteris (stopping him).  Oh, it’s no secret:  everybody in the club guesses it. (To Cuthbertson.) Has Grace never mentioned to you that she wants to marry me?

Cuthbertson (indignantly).  She has mentioned that you want to marry her.

Charteris.  Ah; but then it’s not what I want, but what Grace wants, that will weigh with you.

Craven (a little shocked).  Excuse me Charteris:  this is private.  I’ll leave you to yourselves. (Again moves towards the table.)

Charteris.  Wait a bit, Craven:  you’re concerned in this.  Julia wants to marry me too.

Craven (in a tone of the strongest remonstrance).  Now really!  Now upon my life and soul!

Charteris.  It’s a fact, I assure you.  Didn’t it strike you as rather odd, our being up there last night and Mrs. Tranfield not with us?

Craven.  Well, yes it did.  But you explained it.  And now really, Charteris, I must say your explanation was in shocking bad taste before Julia.

Charteris.  Never mind.  It was a good, fat, healthy, bouncing lie.

Craven and Cuthbertson.  Lie!

Charteris.  Didn’t you suspect that?

Craven.  Certainly not.  Did you, Jo?

Cuthbertson.  No, most emphatically.

Craven.  What’s more, I don’t believe you.  I’m sorry to have to say such a thing; but you forget that Julia was present and didn’t contradict you.

Charteris.  She didn’t want to.

Craven.  Do you mean to say that my daughter deceived me?

Charteris.  Delicacy towards me compelled her to, Craven.

Craven (taking a very serious tone).  Now look here, Charteris:  have you any proper sense of the fact that you’re standing between two fathers?

Cuthbertson.  Quite right, Dan, quite right.  I repeat the question on my own account.

Charteris.  Well, I’m a little dazed still by standing for so long between two daughters; but I think I grasp the situation. (Cuthbertson flings away with an exclamation of disgust.)

Craven.  Then I’m sorry for your manners, Charteris:  that’s all. (He turns away sulkily; then suddenly fires up and turns on Charteris.) How dare you tell me my daughter wants to marry you.  Who are you, pray, that she should have any such ambition?

Charteris.  Just so; she couldn’t have made a worse choice.  But she won’t listen to reason.  I’ve talked to her like a father myself—­I assure you, my dear Craven, I’ve said everything that you could have said; but it’s no use:  she won’t give me up.  And if she won’t listen to me, what likelihood is there of her listening to you?

Craven (in angry bewilderment).  Cuthbertson:  did you ever hear anything like this?