anything you please.

CHARTERIS. Gloves?

SYLVIA. No: cigarettes.

CHARTERIS. Done! But what does she think about it? Does she give him
any encouragement?

SYLVIA. Oh, the usual thing. Enough to keep any other woman from
getting him.

CHARTERIS. Just so. I understand. Now listen to me: I am going to
speak as a philosopher. Julia is jealous of everybody--everybody. If
she saw you flirting with Paramore she'd begin to value him directly.
You might play up a little, Craven, for my sake--eh?

SYLVIA (rising). You're too awful, Leonard. For shame? However,
anything to oblige a fellow Ibsenite. I'll bear your affair in mind.
But I think it would be more effective if you got Grace to do it.

CHARTERIS. Think so? Hm! perhaps you're right.

PAGE BOY (outside as before). Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore, Dr.
Paramore--

SYLVIA. They ought to get that boy's voice properly cultivated: it's a
disgrace to the club. (She goes into the recess on Ibsen's left. The
page enters carrying the British Medical Journal.)