JULIA (cutting him short). Oh, you needn't protest. I'm used to it:
It's the only sort of attachment I seem always to inspire.
(Ironically) You can't think how flattering it is!

PARAMORE. My dear Miss Craven, what a cynical thing to say! You! who
are loved at first sight by the people in the street as you pass. Why,
in the club I can tell by the faces of the men whether you have been
lately in the room or not.

JULIA (shrinking fiercely). Oh, I hate that look in their faces. Do
you know that I have never had one human being care for me since I was
born?

PARAMORE. That's not true, Miss Craven. Even if it were true of your
father, and of Charteris, who loves you madly in spite of your dislike
for him, it is not true of me.

JULIA (startled). Who told you that about Charteris?

PARAMORE. Why, he himself.

JULIA (with deep, poignant conviction). He cares for only one person
in the world; and that is himself. There is not in his whole nature
one unselfish spot. He would not spend one hour of his real life
with-- (a sob chokes her: she rises passionately, crying) You are all
alike, every one of you. Even my father only makes a pet of me. (She
goes away to the fireplace and stands with her back to him.)

PARAMORE (following her humbly). I don't deserve this from you: indeed
I do not.