them. Near the door he checks himself and comes back.)

CRAVEN (softly). By the way, Paramore?--

PARAMORE (rousing himself with an effort). Yes?

CRAVEN. You weren't in earnest that time about my heart, were you?

PARAMORE. Oh, nothing, nothing. There's a slight murmur--mitral valves
a little worn, perhaps; but they'll last your time if you're careful.
Don't smoke too much.

CRAVEN. What! More privations! Now really, Paramore, really--

PARAMORE (rising distractedly). Excuse me: I can't pursue the subject.
I--I--

JULIA. Don't worry him now, Daddy.

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,