conduct, I am indeed. She can't bear to be crossed in the slightest
thing, poor child. I'll have to apologize for her you know: her going
away is a downright slap in the face for these people here.
Cuthbertson may be offended already for all I know.

CHARTERIS. Oh never mind about him. Mrs. Tranfield bosses this
establishment.

CRAVEN (cunningly). Ah, that's it, is it? He's just the sort of fellow
that would have no control over his daughter. (He goes back to his
former place on the hearthrug with his back to the fire.) By the bye,
what the dickens did he mean by all that about passing his life
amid--what was it?--" scenes of suffering nobly endured and sacrifice
willingly rendered by womanly women and manly men" and a lot more of
the same sort? I suppose he's something in a hospital.

CHARTERIS. Hospital! Nonsense: he's a dramatic critic. Didn't you hear
me say that he was the leading representative of manly sentiment in
London?

CRAVEN. You don't say so. Now really, who'd have thought it! How jolly
it must be to be able to go to the theatre for nothing! I must ask him
to get me a few tickets occasionally. But isn't it ridiculous for a
man to talk like that! I'm hanged if he don't take what he sees on the
stage quite seriously.

CHARTERIS. Of course: that's why he's a good critic. Besides, if you
take people seriously off the stage, why shouldn't you take them
seriously on it, where they're under some sort of decent restraint?
(He jumps down off piano and goes up to the window. Cuthbertson comes