Craven (cutting him short).  Don’t be a fool, Paramore.

Julia (tearfully excusing herself).  I’m sure, Daddy—­

Craven.  Stop snivelling.  I’m not speaking as your Daddy now:  I’m speaking as your commanding officer.

Sylvia.  Good old Victoria Cross! (Craven turns sharply on her; and she darts away behind Charteris, and presently seats herself on the couch, so that she and Charteris are shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite ways.  Cuthbertson arrives with Grace, who remains near the door whilst her father joins the others.)

Craven.  Ah, Jo, here you are.  Now, Paramore, tell ’em the news.

Paramore.  Mrs. Tranfield—­Cuthbertson—­allow me to introduce you to my future wife.

Cuthbertson (coming forward to shake hands with Paramore).  My heartiest congratulations! (Paramore goes to shake hands with Grace.) Miss Craven:  you will accept Grace’s congratulations as well as mine, I hope.

Craven.  She will, Jo. (In a tone of command.) Now, Julia. (Julia slowly rises.)

Cuthbertson.  Now, Grace. (He conducts her to Julia’s right; then posts himself on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire, watching them.  The Colonel keeps guard on the other side.)

Grace (speaking in a low voice to Julia alone).  So you have shewn him that you can do without him!  Now I take back everything I said.  Will you shake hands with me? (Julia gives her hand painfully, with her face averted.) They think this a happy ending, Julia—­these men—­our lords and masters! (The two stand silent, hand in hand.)

Sylvia (leaning back across the couch, aside to Charteris).  Has she really chucked you? (He nods assent.  She looks at him dubiously, and adds) I expect you chucked her.

Cuthbertson.  And now, Paramore, mind you don’t stand any chaff from Charteris about this.  He’s in the same predicament himself.  He’s engaged to Grace.

Julia (dropping Grace’s hand, and speaking with breathless anguish, but not violently).  Again!

Charteris (rising hastily).  Don’t be alarmed.  It’s all off.

Sylvia (rising indignantly).  What!  You’ve chucked Grace too!  What a shame! (She goes to the other side of the room, fuming.)

Charteris (following her and putting his hand soothingly on her shoulder).  She won’t have me, old chap—­that is (turning to the others) unless Mrs. Tranfield has changed her mind again.

Grace.  No:  we shall remain very good friends, I hope; but nothing would induce me to marry you. (She goes to chair above the fireplace and sits down with perfect composure.)

Julia.  Ah! (She sits down with a great sigh of relief.)

Sylvia (consoling Charteris).  Poor old Leonard!

Charteris.  Yes:  this is the doom of the philanderer.  I shall have to go on philandering now all my life.  No domesticity, no fireside, no little ones, nothing at all in Cuthbertson’s line!  Nobody will marry me—­unless you, Sylvia—­eh?