[Dorian sees the moment to be dramatic and gallant, to be like a character in a play, like a work of art. But he is just a boy, little experienced and little learned. When he unhooks his arm so he can genuflect before her, the theory is sound but the execution is more uncertain, as with an actor who is too shy to commit fully to the part. Still, he bows his head—] Your Imperial Majesty, I beg you to show mercy on this unworthy servant of the crown! Or, um, sceptre, I suppose, if you're an Empress. [He tries to put the act back together.] My heart beats for you, my hands work for you, my mouth speaks for you. [Did he flush at that last one? Yes. Look, Constance taught him other things mouths can do, and he hasn't forgotten.] I plead my case only—only for love of you, so that I might do your work? [Slipping into uncertainty again, he gives one of those pretty, fragile, helpless smiles, the kind that lets him get away with anything, sincere even in its failure to commit.] Please?