CRAVEN. Well, well: I won't. (He comes to Paramore, who is pacing restlessly up and down the middle of the room.) Come, Paramore, I'm not selfish, believe me: I can feel for your disappointment. But you must face it like a man. And after all, now really, doesn't this shew that there's a lot of rot about modern science? Between ourselves, you know, it's horribly cruel: you must admit that it's a deuced nasty thing to go ripping up and crucifying camels and monkeys. It must blunt all the finer feelings sooner or later. PARAMORE (turning on him). How many camels and horses and men were ripped up in that Soudan campaign where you won your Victoria Cross, Colonel Craven? CRAVEN (firing up). That was fair fighting--a very different thing, Paramore. PARAMORE. Yes, Martinis and machine guns against naked spearmen. CRAVEN (hotly). I took my chance with the rest, Dr. Paramore. I risked my own life: don't forget that. PARAMORE (with equal spirit). And I have risked mine, as all doctors do, oftener than any soldier. CRAVEN. That's true. I didn't think of that. I beg your pardon, Paramore: I'll never say another word against your profession. But I hope you'll let me stick to the good old-fashioned shaking up treatment for my liver--a clinking run across country with the hounds. PARAMORE (with bitter irony). Isn't that rather cruel--a pack of dogs ripping up a fox? JULIA (coming coaxingly between them). Oh, please don't begin arguing again. Do go to the smoking room, Daddy: Mr. Cuthbertson will wonder what has become of you. CRAVEN. Very well, very well: I'll go. But you're really not reasonable to-day, Paramore, to talk that way of fair sport-- JULIA. Sh--sh (coaxing him toward the door). CRAVEN. Well, well, I'm off. (He goes good-humoredly, pushed out by Julia.) JULIA (turning at the door with her utmost witchery of manner). Don't look so disappointed, Dr. Paramore. Cheer up. You've been most kind to us; and you've done papa a lot of good. PARAMORE (delighted, rushing over to her). How beautiful it is of you to say that to me, Miss Craven! JULIA. I hate to see any one unhappy. I can't bear unhappiness. (She runs out, casting a Parthian glance at him as she flies. Paramore stands enraptured, gazing after her through the glass door. Whilst he is thus absorbed Charteris comes in from the dining room and touches him on the arm.) PARAMORE (starting). Eh! What's the matter? CHARTERIS (significantly). Charming woman, isn't she, Paramore? (Looking admiringly at him.) How have you managed to fascinate her? PARAMORE. I! Do you really mean-- (He looks at him; then recovers himself and adds coldly.) Excuse me: this is a subject I do not care to jest about. (He walks away from Charteris down the side of the room, and sits down in an easy chair reading his Journal to intimate that he does not wish to pursue the conversation.)