Seated in Sulla's client's chair, the doughty old man eyed his host's fair countenance sourly through clear green orbs which gave the lie to the lines upon his face, the hairlessness of his skull. And wished, wished, wished that he could have stayed away, that he didn't have to beggar his pride to deal with this hideously farcical situation. "I imagine you know why I'm here, Lucius Cornelius," said Scaurus, chin up, eyes direct. "I believe I do," said Sulla, and said no more. "I have come to apologize for the conduct of my wife, and to assure you that, having spoken to you, I will proceed to make it impossible for my wife to embarrass you further.'' There! It was out. And he was still alive, hadn't died of shame. But at the back of Sulla's calm dispassionate gaze he fancied he discerned a faint contempt; imaginary, perhaps, but it was that which turned Scaurus into Sulla's enemy. "I'm very sorry, Marcus Aemilius." Say something, Sulla! Make it easier for the old fool! Don't leave him sitting there with his pride in tatters! Remember what Aurelia said! But the words refused to come out. They milled inchoate within his mind and left his tongue a thing of stone, silent. "It will be better for everyone concerned if you leave Rome. Take yourself off to Spain," Scaurus said finally. "I hear that Lucius Cornelius Dolabella can do with competent help." Sulla blinked with exaggerated surprise. "Can he? I hadn't realized things were so serious! However, Marcus Aemilius, it isn't possible for me to uproot myself and go to Further Spain. I've been in the Senate now for nine years, it's time I sought election as a praetor." Scaurus swallowed, but strove to continue seeming pleasant. "Not this year, Lucius Cornelius," he said gently. "Next year, or the year after. This year you must leave Rome." "Marcus Aemilius, I have done nothing wrong!" Yes, you have, Sulla! What you are doing at this very moment is wrong, you're treading all over him! "I am three years past the age for a praetor, my time grows short.