CHARTERIS. Think so? Hm! perhaps you're right.
PAGE BOY (outside as before). Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore, Dr. Paramore—
SYLVIA. They ought to get that boy's voice properly cultivated: it's a disgrace to the club. (She goes into the recess on Ibsen's left. The page enters carrying the British Medical Journal.)
CHARTERIS (calling to the page). Dr. Paramore is in the dining room.
PAGE BOY. Thank you, sir. (He is about to go into the dining room when Sylvia swoops on him.)
SYLVIA. Here: where are you taking that paper? It belongs to this room.
PAGE BOY. It's Dr. Paramore's particular orders, miss. The British Medical Journal has always to be brought to him dreckly it comes.
SYLVIA. What cheek? Charteris: oughtn't we to stop this on principle?
CHARTERIS. Certainly not. Principle's the poorest reason I know for making yourself nasty.
SYLVIA. Bosh! Ibsen!