about immediately after lunch.

CUTHBERTSON. His liver's cured. Come on. Craven. (He opens the door.)

CHARTERIS (catching Cuthbertson by the sleeve). Cuthbertson, you're
mad. Paramore's going to propose to Julia. We must give him time: he's
not the man to come to the point in three minutes as you or I would.
(Turning to Craven) Don't you see?--that will get me out of the
difficulty we were speaking of this morning--you and I and
Cuthbertson. You remember?

CRAVEN. Now, is this a thing to say plump out before everybody,
Charteris? Confound it, have you no decency?

CUTHBERTSON (severely). None whatever.

CHARTERIS (turning to Cuthbertson). No--don't be unkind, Cuthbertson.
Back me up. My future, her future, Mrs. Tranfield's future, Craven's
future, everybody's future depends on our finding Julia Paramore's
affianced bride when we go over to Savile Row. He's certain to propose
if you'll only give him time. You know you're a kindly and sensible
man as well as a deucedly clever one, Cuthbertson, in spite of all
your nonsense. Say a word for me.

CRAVEN. I'm quite willing to leave the decision to Cuthbertson; and I
have no doubt whatever as to what that decision will be. (Cuthbertson
carefully shuts the door, and comes back into the room with an air of
weighty reflection.)

CUTHBERTSON. I am now going to speak as a man of the world: that is,