PASCOE. (To Carve with renewed eagerness.) So there is a special
reason why you keep out of England.

CARVE. Yes--shyness.

PASCOE. How--shyness?

CARVE. Just simple shyness. Shyness is a disease with the governor, a
perfect disease.

PASCOE. But everyone's shy. The more experience I get the more convinced
I am that we're all shy. Why, you were shy when you came to fetch me!

CARVE. Did you notice it?

PASCOE. Of course. And I was shy when I came in here. I was thinking to
myself, "Now I'm going to see the great Ilam Carve actually in the
flesh," and I was shy. You'd think my profession would have cured me of
being shy, but not a bit. Nervous disease, of course! Ought to be
treated as such. Almost universal. Besides, even if he is shy, your
governor--even if he's a hundredfold shy, that's no reason for keeping
out of England. Shyness is not one of those diseases you can cure by
change of climate.

CARVE. Pardon me. My esteemed employer's shyness is a special shyness.
He's only shy when he has to play the celebrity. So long as people take
him for no one in particular he's quite all right. For instance, he's
never shy with me. But instantly people approach him as the celebrity,
instantly he sees in the eye of the beholder any consciousness of being
in the presence of a toff--then he gets desperately shy, and his one