PARAMORE (exultant). No need for further delay now, my best friend.
(He wrings Charteris's hand.) Will you come, Colonel?

CRAVEN. At your service, Paramore: at your service. (Craven and
Paramore go into the consulting room. Julia turns her head and stares
insolently at Charteris. His nerves play him false: he is completely
out of countenance in a moment. She rises suddenly. He starts, and
comes hastily forward between the table and the bookcase. She crosses
to that side behind the table; and he immediately crosses to the
opposite side in front of it, dodging her.)

CHARTERIS (nervously). Don't, Julia. Now don't abuse your advantage.
You've got me here at your mercy. Be good for once; and don't make a
scene.

JULIA (contemptuously). Do you suppose I am going to touch you?

CHARTERIS. No. Of course not. (She comes forward on her side of the
table. He retreats on his side of it. She looks at him with utter
scorn; sweeps across to the couch; and sits down imperially. With a
great sigh of relief he drops into Paramore's chair.)

JULIA. Come here. I have something to say to you.

CHARTERIS. Yes? (He rolls the chair a few inches towards her.)

JULIA. Come here, I say. I am not going to shout across the room at
you. Are you afraid of me?

CHARTERIS. Horribly. (He moves the chair slowly, with great misgiving,