[MANSON has been offering him bread for some time. He has just tumbled to the fact of his presence. He rises.]

My--my Brother from Benares, I presume?

ROBERT. What, _my_ pal, _'is_ brother! Oh, Je'oshaphat!

BISHOP. Ten thousand pardons! Really, my eyesight is deplorable!

Delighted to meet you! . . .

I was just observing to our charming host that--er-- Humph! . . .

Bless me! Now what _was_ I . . .

MANSON. Something about your sacred obligations, I believe.

BISHOP. May I trouble you again?

[MANSON gravely fixes the ear-trumpet in his ear.]

ROBERT. That's right: stick the d.a.m.ned thing in 'is ear-'ole, comride!

MANSON [through the trumpet]. Your sacred obligations.

BISHOP. Precisely, precisely! Er-- Shall we sit?

[They do so. The BISHOP looks to MANSON to begin. MANSON, failing him, the spirit begins to work within himself.]

Well--er---speaking of that, of course, my dearly-beloved brother, I feel very seriously on the matter, very seriously--as I am sure you do. The restoration of a church is a tremendous, an overwhelming responsibility. To begin with, it--it costs quite a lot. Doesn't it?

MANSON. It does: quite a lot.

BISHOP. Hm, yes--yes! . . . You mentioned _Sacred obligations_ just now, and I think that on the whole I am inclined to agree with you. It is an admirable way of putting it. We must awaken people to a sense of their _sacred obligations_. This is a work in which everybody can do something: the rich man can give of the abundance with which it has pleased Providence specially to favour him: the poor man with his slender savings need have no fear for the poverty of his gift-- Let him give all: it will be accepted. Those of us who, like yourself, my dear brother--and I say it in all modesty, perhaps _my_self--are in possession of the endowments of learning, of influence, of authority--we can lend our _names_ to the good work. As you say so very beautifully: _sacred obligations_.

By-the-way, I don't think I quite caught your views as to the probable cost. Eh, what do you think?

MANSON. I think that should depend upon the obligations; and then, of course, the sacredness might count for something.

BISHOP. Yes, yes, we've discussed all that. But bringing it down to a _practical_ basis: how much could we manage with?

MANSON. What do you say to--everything you have?

BISHOP. My dear sir, I'm not talking about myself!

MANSON. Well--everything the others have?

BISHOP. My dear sir, they're not fools! Do discuss the matter like a man of the world!

MANSON. _G.o.d's not watching: let's give as little, and grab as much as we can_!

BISHOP. Ssh! My dear brother! Remember who's present! [He glances toward Robert.] However . . . [Coughs.] We will return to this later. I begin to understand you.

ROBERT. Yus: you think you do!

BISHOP. At the same time, I do think we ought to come to some general understanding; we must count the cost. Now, from all accounts, you have had some experience of church-building out in India--not that I think the extravagance for which you are credited would be either possible or desirable in this country--oh, no!

Thank G.o.d, we know how to worship in spirit and in truth, without the aid of expensive buildings! However, I should like to hear your views. How did you manage it?

MANSON. Sacrifice.

BISHOP. Of course, of course; but _practically_. They say it's an enormous concern!

MANSON. So it is.

BISHOP. Well, what would such an establishment as that represent?

In round numbers, now?

MANSON [calmly]. Numberless millions.

BISHOP. Numberless mil . . . ! [He drops his fork.] My dear sir, absurd! . . . Why, the place must be a palace--fit for a king!

MANSON. It is!

BISHOP. Do you mean to tell me that one man alone, on his own naked credit, could obtain numberless millions for such an object as that? How could you possibly get them together?

MANSON. They came freely from every quarter of the world.

BISHOP. On the security of your own name alone?

MANSON. No other, I a.s.sure you.

BISHOP. For Heaven's sake, tell me all about it! What sort of a place is it?

MANSON [seriously]. Are you quite sure you can hear?

BISHOP. Perhaps your voice is _not_ quite so clear as it was.

However . . .

[He wipes the inside of the ear-trumpet, and fixes it afresh.]

Now! Tell me about your church.

[During the following speech the BISHOP is occupied with his own thoughts: after the first few words he makes no attempt at listening: indeed, the trumpet goes down to the table again in no time. On the other hand, ROBERT, at first apathetic, gradually awakens to the keenest interest in what MANSON says.]

MANSON [very simply]. I am afraid you may not consider it an altogether substantial concern. It has to be seen in a certain way, under certain conditions. Some people never _see_ it at all.

You must understand, this is no dead pile of stones and unmeaning timber. _It is a living thing_.

BISHOP [in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, self-engrossed]. Numberless millions!

MANSON. When you enter it you hear a sound--a sound as of some mighty poem chanted. Listen long enough, and you will learn that it is made up of the beating of human hearts, of the nameless music of men's souls--that is, if you have ears. If you have eyes, you will presently see the church itself--a looming mystery of many shapes and shadows, leaping sheer from floor to dome. The work of no ordinary builder!