Paramore is seated in a round-backed chair, on castors, pouring out tea. Julia sits opposite him, with her back to the fire. He is in high spirits: she very downcast.
PARAMORE (handing her the cup he has just filled). There! Making tea is one of the few things I consider myself able to do thoroughly well. Cake?
JULIA. No, thank you. I don't like sweet things. (She sets down the cup untasted.)
PARAMORE. Anything wrong with the tea?
JULIA. No, it's very nice.
PARAMORE. I'm afraid I'm a very bad entertainer. The fact is, I'm too professional. I only shine in consultation. I almost wish you had something the matter with you; so that you might call out my knowledge and sympathy. As it is, I can only admire you, and feel how pleasant it is to have you here.
JULIA (bitterly). And pet me, and say pretty things to me! I wonder you don't offer me a saucer of milk at once?
PARAMORE (astonished). Why?
JULIA. Because you seem to regard me very much as if I were a Persian cat.
PARAMORE (in strong remonstrance). Miss Cra—