Sir J. (R. C.) Yes, sit down, sit down. (Everard sits on stool L. C.) Oh, Everard!
(Sir J. sits in chair R. C. down stage.)
Everard. (wonderingly) Why, uncle, what is it? Have I done anything?
Sir J. Done anything, unhappy boy! (He pauses, perplexedly, then resumes, with melodrama) I should never have believed it—never!
Everard. (rise and going C.) But, uncle, tell me—
Sir J. (waving him back) If ever a trust was sacred ... if ever a man had a right to expect—and you—you!
Everard. (C. in absolute dismay) Why—what—
Sir J. Isn't the world full of girls whom you could fall in love with? Don't they—pullulate? Aren't there a hundred thousand more women than men in London alone? And must you select, out of them all, the very one whom you—shouldn't?
Everard. (sinking his head) That wretched Treable woman has told you about the verses!