LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right.
ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle.
CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion.
(Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.)
LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew.
LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man—
ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.)
CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come.
ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right.
CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket.