JULIA (almost crying). Oh, so glad: so glad! (Cuthbertson sobs audibly. The Colonel is affected. Sylvia, entering from the dining room, stops abruptly at the door on seeing the three. Paramore, in the recess, escapes her notice.) SYLVIA. Hallo! CRAVEN. Tell her the news, Julia: it would sound ridiculous from me. (He goes to the weeping Cuthbertson, and pats him consolingly on the shoulder.) JULIA. Silly: only think! Dad's not ill at all. It was only a mistake of Dr. Paramore's. Oh, dear! (She catches Craven's left hand and stoops to kiss it, his right hand being still on Cuthbertson's shoulder.) SYLVIA (contemptuously). I knew it. Of course it was nothing but eating too much. I always said Paramore was an ass. (Sensation. Cuthbertson, Craven and Julia turn in consternation.) PARAMORE (without malice). Never mind, Miss Craven. That is what is being said all over Europe now. Never mind. SYLVIA (a little abashed). I'm so sorry, Dr. Paramore. You must excuse a daughter's feelings. CRAVEN (huffed). It evidently doesn't make much difference to you, Sylvia. SYLVIA. I'm not going to be sentimental over it, Dad, you may bet. (Coming to Craven.) Besides, I knew it was nonsense all along. (Petting him.) Poor dear old Dad! why should your days be numbered any more than any one else's? (He pats her cheek, mollified. Julia impatiently turns away from them.) Come to the smoking room, and let's see what you can do after teetotalling for a year. CRAVEN (playfully). Vulgar little girl! (He pinches her ear.) Shall we come, Jo! You'll be the better for a pick-me-up after all this emotion. CUTHBERTSON. I'm not ashamed of it, Dan. It has done me good. (He goes up to the table and shakes his fist at the bust over the mantelpiece.) It would do you good too if you had eyes and ears to take it in. CRAVEN (astonished). Who? SYLVIA. Why, good old Henrik, of course. CRAVEN (puzzled). Henrik? CUTHBERTSON (impatiently). Ibsen, man: Ibsen. (He goes out by the staircase door followed by Sylvia, who kisses her hand to the bust as she passes. Craven stares blankly after her, and then up at the bust. Giving the problem up as insoluble, he shakes his head and follows them. Near the door he checks himself and comes back.) CRAVEN (softly). By the way, Paramore?-- PARAMORE (rousing himself with an effort). Yes? CRAVEN. You weren't in earnest that time about my heart, were you? PARAMORE. Oh, nothing, nothing. There's a slight murmur--mitral valves a little worn, perhaps; but they'll last your time if you're careful. Don't smoke too much. CRAVEN. What! More privations! Now really, Paramore, really-- PARAMORE (rising distractedly). Excuse me: I can't pursue the subject. I--I-- JULIA. Don't worry him now, Daddy.