CRAVEN (floundering). Sylvia! Is that the way to speak of your sister, miss? (Grace squeezes Sylvia's hand to console her, and sits down calmly. Sylvia posts herself behind Grace's chair, leaning over the back to watch the ensuing colloquy between the three men.) I assure you, Mrs. Tranfield, Dr. Paramore has just invited us all to take afternoon tea with him; and if my daughter has gone to his house, she is simply taking advantage of his invitation to extricate herself from a very embarrassing scene here. We're all going there. Come, Sylvia. (He turns to go, followed by Cuthbertson.) CHARTERIS (in consternation). Stop! (He gets between Craven and Cuthbertson.) What hurry is there? Can't you give the man time? CRAVEN. Time! What for? CHARTERIS (talking foolishly in his agitation). Well, to get a little rest, you know--a busy professional man like that! He's not had a moment to himself all day. CRAVEN. But Julia's with him. CHARTERIS. Well, no matter: she's only one person. And she ought to have an opportunity of laying her case before him. As a member of the committee, I think that's only just. Be reasonable, Craven: give him half an hour. CUTHBERTSON (sternly). What do you mean by this, Charteris? CHARTERIS. Nothing, I assure you. Only common consideration for poor Paramore. CUTHBERTSON. You've some motive. Craven: I strongly advise that we go at once. (He grasps the door handle.) CHARTERIS (coaxingly). No, no. (He puts his hand persuasively on Craven's arm, adding) It's not good for your liver, Craven, to rush about immediately after lunch. CUTHBERTSON. His liver's cured. Come on. Craven. (He opens the door.) CHARTERIS (catching Cuthbertson by the sleeve). Cuthbertson, you're mad. Paramore's going to propose to Julia. We must give him time: he's not the man to come to the point in three minutes as you or I would. (Turning to Craven) Don't you see?--that will get me out of the difficulty we were speaking of this morning--you and I and Cuthbertson. You remember? CRAVEN. Now, is this a thing to say plump out before everybody, Charteris? Confound it, have you no decency? CUTHBERTSON (severely). None whatever. CHARTERIS (turning to Cuthbertson). No--don't be unkind, Cuthbertson. Back me up. My future, her future, Mrs. Tranfield's future, Craven's future, everybody's future depends on our finding Julia Paramore's affianced bride when we go over to Savile Row. He's certain to propose if you'll only give him time. You know you're a kindly and sensible man as well as a deucedly clever one, Cuthbertson, in spite of all your nonsense. Say a word for me. CRAVEN. I'm quite willing to leave the decision to Cuthbertson; and I have no doubt whatever as to what that decision will be. (Cuthbertson carefully shuts the door, and comes back into the room with an air of weighty reflection.) CUTHBERTSON. I am now going to speak as a man of the world: that is, without moral responsibility. CRAVEN. Quite so, Jo. Of course.