They are both in evening dress; and Cuthbertson wears
his fur collared overcoat, which, with his vigilant,
irascible eye, piled up hair, and the honorable
earnestness with which he takes himself, gives him an
air of considerable consequence.

CUTHBERTSON (with a hospitable show of delight at finding visitors).
Don't stop, Miss Craven. Go on, Charteris. (He comes down behind the
sofa, and hangs his overcoat on it, after taking an opera glass and a
theatre programme from the pockets, and putting them down on the
piano. Craven meanwhile goes to the fire-place and stands on the
hearthrug.)

CHARTERIS. No, thank you. Miss Craven has just been taking me through
an old song; and I've had enough of it. (He takes the song off the
piano desk and lays it aside; then closes the lid over the keyboard.)

JULIA (passing between the sofa and piano to shake hands with
Cuthbertson). Why, you've brought Daddy! What a surprise! (Looking
across to Craven.) So glad you've come, Dad. (She takes a chair near
the window, and sits there.)

CUTHBERTSON. Craven: let me introduce you to Mr. Leonard Charteris,
the famous Ibsenist philosopher.

CRAVEN. Oh, we know one another already. Charteris is quite at home at
our house, Jo.

CUTHBERTSON. I beg both your pardons. (Charteris sits down on the
piano stool.) He's quite at home here too. By the bye, where's Grace?