Paramore is seated in a round-backed chair, on castors, pouring out tea.  Julia sits opposite him, with her back to the fire.  He is in high spirits:  she very downcast.

Paramore (handing her the cup he has just filled).  There!  Making tea is one of the few things I consider myself able to do thoroughly well.  Cake?

Julia.  No, thank you.  I don’t like sweet things. (She sets down the cup untasted.)

Paramore.  Anything wrong with the tea?

Julia.  No, it’s very nice.

Paramore.  I’m afraid I’m a very bad entertainer.  The fact is, I’m too professional.  I only shine in consultation.  I almost wish you had something the matter with you; so that you might call out my knowledge and sympathy.  As it is, I can only admire you, and feel how pleasant it is to have you here.

Julia (bitterly).  And pet me, and say pretty things to me!  I wonder you don’t offer me a saucer of milk at once?

Paramore (astonished).  Why?

Julia.  Because you seem to regard me very much as if I were a Persian cat.

Paramore (in strong remonstrance).  Miss Cra—­

Julia (cutting him short).  Oh, you needn’t protest.  I’m used to it:  It’s the only sort of attachment I seem always to inspire.  (Ironically) You can’t think how flattering it is!

Paramore.  My dear Miss Craven, what a cynical thing to say!  You! who are loved at first sight by the people in the street as you pass.  Why, in the club I can tell by the faces of the men whether you have been lately in the room or not.

Julia (shrinking fiercely).  Oh, I hate that look in their faces.  Do you know that I have never had one human being care for me since I was born?

Paramore.  That’s not true, Miss Craven.  Even if it were true of your father, and of Charteris, who loves you madly in spite of your dislike for him, it is not true of me.

Julia (startled).  Who told you that about Charteris?

Paramore.  Why, he himself.

Julia (with deep, poignant conviction).  He cares for only one person in the world; and that is himself.  There is not in his whole nature one unselfish spot.  He would not spend one hour of his real life with—­ (a sob chokes her:  she rises passionately, crying) You are all alike, every one of you.  Even my father only makes a pet of me. (She goes away to the fireplace and stands with her back to him.)

Paramore (following her humbly).  I don’t deserve this from you:  indeed
I do not.

Julia (rating him).  Then why do you talk about me with Charteris, behind my back?

Paramore.  We said nothing disparaging of you.  Nobody shall ever do that in my presence.  We spoke of the subject nearest our hearts.

Julia.  His heart!  Oh, God, his heart! (She sits down on the couch and hides her face.)