CUTHBERTSON (vehemently). It’s true. It’s monstrous, but it’s true.
CRAVEN (with rising indignation, as he begins to draw the inevitable inferences). Do you mean to say that somebody had the audacity to guarantee that my Julia is not a womanly woman?
CHARTERIS (darkly). It sounds incredible; but a man was found ready to take that inconceivable lie on his conscience.
JULIA (firing up). If he has nothing worse than that on his conscience, he may sleep pretty well. In what way am I more womanly than any of the rest of them, I should like to know? They are always saying things like that behind my back — I hear of them from Sylvia. Only the other day a member of the committee said I ought never to have been elected — that you (to Charteris) had smuggled me in. I should like to see her say it to my face: that’s all.
CRAVEN. But, my precious, I most sincerely hope she was right. She paid you the highest compliment. Why, the place must be a den of infamy.
CUTHBERTSON (emphatically). So it is, Craven, so it is.
CHARTERIS. Exactly. That’s what keeps it so select: nobody but people whose reputations are above suspicion dare belong to it. If we once got a good name, we should become a mere whitewashing shop for all the shady characters in London. Better join us, Craven. Let me put you up.
CRAVEN. What! Join a club where there’s some scoundrel who guaranteed my daughter to be an unwomanly woman! If I weren’t an invalid, I’d kick him.
CHARTERIS. Oh don’t say that. It was I who did it.
CRAVEN (reproachfully). You! Now upon my soul, Charteris, this is very vexing. Now how could you bring yourself to do such a thing?
CHARTERIS. She made me. Why, I had to guarantee Cuthbertson as unmanly; and he’s the leading representative of manly sentiment in London.
CRAVEN. That didn’t do Jo any harm: but it took away my Julia’s character.
JULIA (outraged). Daddy!
CHARTERIS. Not at the Ibsen club, quite the contrary. After all, what can we do? You know what breaks up most clubs for men and women. There’s a quarrel — a scandal — cherchez la femme — always a woman at the bottom of it. Well, we knew this when we founded the club; but we noticed that the woman at the bottom of it was always a womanly woman. The unwomanly women who work for their living and know how to take care of themselves never give any trouble. So we simply said we wouldn’t have any womanly women; and when one gets smuggled in she has to take care not to behave in a womanly way. We get on all right. (He rises.) Come to lunch with me there tomorrow and see the place.
CUTHBERTSON (rising). No, he’s engaged to me. But you can join us.
CHARTERIS. What hour?
CUTHBERTSON. Any time after twelve. (To Craven) It’s at 90 Cork street, at the other end of the Burlington Arcade.
CRAVEN (making a note). 90, you say. After twelve. (He suddenly relapses into gloom.) By the bye, don’t order anything special for me. I’m not allowed wine — only Apollinaris. No meat either — only a scrap of fish occasionally. I’m to have a short life, but not a merry one. (Sighing.) Well, well. (Bracing himself up.) Now, Julia, it’s time for us to be off. (Julia rises.)
CUTHBERTSON. But where on earth is Grace? I must go and look for her. (He turns to the door.)
JULIA (stopping him). Oh, pray don’t disturb her, Mr. Cuthbertson. She’s so tired.
CUTHBERTSON. But just for a moment to say good night. (Julia and Charteris look at one another in dismay. Cuthbertson looks quickly at them, perceiving that something is wrong.)
CHARTERIS. We must make a clean breast of it, I see.
CUTHBERTSON. Clean breast?
CHARTERIS. The truth is, Cuthbertson, Mrs. Tranfield, who is, as you know, the most thoughtful of women, took it into her head that I — well, that I particularly wanted to speak to Miss Craven alone. So she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
CRAVEN (scandalized). Tut! tut!
CUTHBERTSON. Oho! is that it? Then it’s all right. She never goes to bed as early as this. I’ll fetch her in a moment. (He goes out confidently, leaving Charteris aghast.)
JULIA. Now you’ve done it. (She rushes to the round table and snatches up her mantle and bonnet.) I’m off. (She makes for the door.)
CRAVEN (horrified). What are you doing, Julia? You can’t go until you’ve said good night to Mrs. Tranfield. It would be horribly rude.
JULIA. You can stay if you like, Daddy: I can’t. I’ll wait for you in the hall. (She hurries out.)
CRAVEN (following her). But what on earth am I to say? (Stopping as she disappears, and turning to Charteris grumbling) Now really you know, Charteris, this is devilish awkward, upon my life it is. That was a most indelicate thing of you to say plump out before us all — that about you and Julia.
CHARTERIS. I’ll explain it all tomorrow. Just at present we’d really better follow Julia’s example and bolt. (He starts for the door.)
CRAVEN (intercepting him). Stop! don’t leave me like this: I shall look like a fool. Now I shall really take it in bad part if you run away, Charteris.
CHARTERIS (resignedly). All right. I’ll stay. (Lifts himself on to the shoulder of the grand piano and sits there swinging his legs and contemplating Craven resignedly.)
CRAVEN (pacing up and down). I’m excessively vexed about Julia’s conduct, I am indeed. She can’t bear to be crossed in the slightest thing, poor child. I’ll have to apologize for her you know: her going away is a downright slap in the face for these people here. Cuthbertson may be offended already for all I know.
CHARTERIS. Oh never mind about him. Mrs. Tranfield bosses this establishment.
CRAVEN (cunningly). Ah, that’s it, is it? He’s just the sort of fellow that would have no control over his daughter. (He goes back to his former place on the hearthrug with his back to the fire.) By the bye, what the dickens did he mean by all that about passing his life amid — what was it?— “scenes of suffering nobly endured and sacrifice willingly rendered by womanly women and manly men” and a lot more of the same sort? I suppose he’s something in a hospital.
CHARTERIS. Hospital! Nonsense: he’s a dramatic critic. Didn’t you hear me say that he was the leading representative of manly sentiment in London?
CRAVEN. You don’t say so. Now really, who’d have thought it! How jolly it must be to be able to go to the theatre for nothing! I must ask him to get me a few tickets occasionally. But isn’t it ridiculous for a man to talk like that! I’m hanged if he don’t take what he sees on the stage quite seriously.
CHARTERIS. Of course: that’s why he’s a good critic. Besides, if you take people seriously off the stage, why shouldn’t you take them seriously on it, where they’re under some sort of decent restraint? (He jumps down off piano and goes up to the window. Cuthbertson comes back.)
CUTHBERTSON (to Craven, rather sheepishly). The fact is, Grace has gone to bed. I must apologize to you and Miss — (He turns to Julia’s seat, and stops on seeing it vacant.)
CRAVEN (embarrassed). It is I who have to apologize for Julia, Jo. She —
CHARTERIS (interrupting). She said she was quite sure that if we didn’t go, you’d persuade Mrs. Tranfield to get up to say good night for the sake of politeness; so she went straight off.
CUTHBERTSON. Very kind of her indeed. I’m really ashamed —
CRAVEN. Don’t mention it, Jo, don’t mention it. She’s waiting for me below. (Going.) Good night. Good night, Charteris.
CHARTERIS. Good night.
CUTHBERTSON (seeing