CHARTERIS. Why, man, you've been a messenger of glad tidings! Didn't
you congratulate him?

PARAMORE (scandalised). Congratulate him! Congratulate a man on the
worst blow pathological science has received for the last three
hundred years!

CHARTERIS. No, no, no. Congratulate him on having his life saved.
Congratulate Julia on having her father spared. Swear that your
discovery and your reputation are as nothing to you compared with the
pleasure of restoring happiness to the household in which the best
hopes of your life are centred. Confound it, man, you'll never get
married if you can't turn things to account with a woman in these
little ways.

PARAMORE (gravely). Excuse me; but my self-respect is dearer to me
even than Miss Craven. I cannot trifle with scientific questions for
the sake of a personal advantage. (He turns away coldly and goes
toward the table.)

CHARTERIS. Well, this beats me! The nonconformist conscience is bad
enough; but the scientific conscience is the very devil. (He follows
Paramore and puts his arm familiarly round his shoulder, bringing him
back again whilst he speaks.) Now look here, Paramore: I've got no
conscience in that sense at all: I loathe it as I loathe all the
snares of idealism; but I have some common humanity and common sense.
(He replaces him in the easy chair and sits down opposite him.) Come:
what is a really scientific theory?--a true theory, isn't it?