Julia.  Ask him. (She goes to the fireplace, her back on them.)

Charteris.  Certainly:  I’ll confess.  I’m in love with Miss Craven—­always have been; and I’ve persecuted her with my addresses ever since I knew her.  It’s been no use:  she utterly despises me.  A moment ago the spectacle of a rival’s happiness stung me to make a nasty, sneering speech; and she—­well, she just shook me a little, as you saw.

Paramore (chivalrously).  I shall never forget that you helped me to win her, Charteris. (Julia quickly, a spasm of fury in her face.)

Charteris.  Sh!  For Heaven’s sake don’t mention it.

Craven.  This is a very different story to the one you told Cuthbertson and myself this morning.  You’ll excuse my saying that it sounds much more like the the truth.  Come:  you were humbugging us, weren’t you?

Charteris.  Ask Julia. (Paramore and Craven turn to Julia.  Charteris remains doggedly looking straight before him.)

Julia.  It’s quite true.  He has been in love with me; he has persecuted me; and I utterly despise him.

Graven.  Don’t rub it in, Julia:  it’s not kind.  No man is quite himself when he’s crossed in love. (To Charteris.) Now listen to me, Charteris.  When I was a young fellow, Cuthbertson and I fell in love with the same woman.  She preferred Cuthbertson.  I was taken aback:  I won’t deny it.  But I knew my duty; and I did it.  I gave her up and wished Cuthbertson joy.  He told me this morning, when we met after many years, that he has respected and liked me ever since for it.  And I believe him and feel the better for it. (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.  Must I stand to be bargained for by two men—­passed from one to the other like a slave in the market, and not say a word in my own defence?