JULIA. Dear old Daddy!

CRAVEN. Ah, is Julia glad that the old Dad is let off for a few years
more?

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