rescue me from Julia.

GRACE (rising). Then, if you please, I decline to be made use of for
any such purpose. I will not steal you from another woman. (She begins
to walk up and down the room with ominous disquiet.)

CHARTERIS. Steal me! (Comes towards her.) Grace: I have a question to
put to you as an advanced woman. Mind! as an advanced woman. Does
Julia belong to me? Am I her owner--her master?

GRACE. Certainly not. No woman is the property of a man. A woman
belongs to herself and to nobody else.

CHARTERIS. Quite right. Ibsen for ever! That's exactly my opinion. Now
tell me, do I belong to Julia; or have I a right to belong to myself?

GRACE (puzzled). Of course you have; but--

CHARTERIS (interrupting her triumphantly). Then how can you steal me
from Julia if I don't belong to her? (Catching her by the shoulders
and holding her out at arm's length in front of him.) Eh, little
philosopher? No, my dear: if Ibsen sauce is good for the goose, it's
good for the gander as well. Besides (coaxing her) it was nothing but
a philander with Julia--nothing else in the world, I assure you.

GRACE (breaking away from him). So much the worse! I hate your
philanderings: they make me ashamed of you and of myself. (Goes to the
sofa and sits in the right hand corner of it, leaning gloomily on her
elbow with her face averted.)