Sir J. (rise) I see. But, tell me—have you said all this—to her?
Everard. (C. mournfully) To her not a word! My fingers may have pleaded, as I passed the bread and butter—my eyes may have spoken—but my lips—never! The verses, the fatal verses, merely compared her to the (away L. C.) Capitoline Venus—
Sir J. (R. C.) And the Venus, I suppose, wasn't in it?
Everard. (up to him R. C.) Ah, uncle, don't make fun of me! I confess my fault to you frankly—I know it was wrong—I've always known it. Send me away, sir—I'll do what you bid me. Get me a berth in Africa where the climate's deadliest (sit C. front of table) I'll go without a word—and you'll soon be rid of me!
Sir J. (up R. C.) But, my dear lad, I don't want to be rid of you—and I'm not sure that I altogether approve of the deadly climate scheme. All I say is—
Everard. You can say nothing to me that I have not said already to myself—ah, many times! (rise) It was a presumption—a mad presumption. Don't be too hard on me!
Sir J. (gravely) Everard, I've tried to do my duty by you—
Everard. You have been more than a father to me. Be merciful, sir!
Sir J. I will, I will.
Everard. All I ask is—