bring such weapons up here.

SYLVIA. If you attempt such a thing, Dr. Paramore, I will complain to
the committee. The majority of the committee are anti-vivisectionists.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself. (She flounces out at the right
hand door.)

PARAMORE (with patient contempt). That's the sort of thing we
scientific men have to put up with nowadays, Mr. Cuthbertson.
Ignorance, superstition, sentimentality: they are all one. A guinea
pig's convenience is set above the health and lives of the entire
human race.

CUTHBERTSON (vehemently). It's not ignorance or superstition,
Paramore: it's sheer downright Ibsenism: that's what it is. I've been
wanting to sit comfortably at the fire the whole morning; but I've
never had a chance with that girl there. I couldn't go and plump
myself down on a seat beside her: goodness knows what she'd think I
wanted. That's one of the delights of having women in the club: when
they come in here they all want to sit at the fire and adore that
bust. I sometimes feel that I should like to take the poker and fetch
it a wipe across the nose--ugh!

PARAMORE. I must say I prefer the elder Miss Craven to her sister.

CUTHBERTSON (his eyes lighting up). Ah, Julia! I believe you. A
splendid fine creature--every inch a woman. No Ibsenism about her!

PARAMORE. I quite agree with you there, Mr. Cuthbertson. Er--by the
way, do you think is Miss Craven attached to Charteris at all?