(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.
(ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to
the nearest spring.)
LORD LOAM (rather white).
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