CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you—I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord.
LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it!
CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man.
LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come.
(They disappear proudly in single file.)
TREHERNE. Crichton, I’m sorry; but of course I must go with them.
CRICHTON. Certainly, sir.
(He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.)
Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others?
TREHERNE. Assuredly.