desire is to be alone at sea or to be buried somewhere deep in the
bosom of the earth. (PASCOE laughs.) What are you laughing at? (CARVE
also laughs.)

PASCOE. Go on, go on. I'm enjoying it.

CARVE. No, but seriously! It's true what I tell you. It amounts almost
to a tragedy in the brilliant career of my esteemed. You see now that
England would be impossible for him as a residence. You see, don't you?

PASCOE. Quite.

CARVE. Why, even on the Continent, in the big towns and the big hotels,
we often travel incognito for safety. It's only in the country districts
that he goes about under his own name.

PASCOE. So that he's really got no friends?

CARVE. None, except a few Italian and Spanish peasants--and me.

PASCOE. Well, well! It's an absolute mania then, this shyness.

CARVE. (Slightly hurt.) Oh, not so bad as that! And then it's only
fair to say he has his moments of great daring--you may say rashness.

PASCOE. All timid people are like that.

CARVE. Are they? (Musing.) We're here now owing to one of his moments
of rashness.