VICAR. I hardly know: I hardly dare to name him, but perhaps it was--the Saint.

AUNTIE. What I have done, William, has been done for love of you--you only--you only in the world!

VICAR. Yes: that's what I _mean_!

[The thought troubles her for a moment; then she paces up and down in agitated rebellion.]

AUNTIE. No! I can't believe it! I can't think that love is as wrong as you say!

VICAR. Love is a spirit of many shapes and shadows: a spirit of fire and darkness--a minister of heaven and h.e.l.l: Sometimes I think the very d.a.m.ned know love--in a way. It can inform men's souls with the gladness of high archangels, or possess them with the despair of devils!

[She suddenly stands still, struck by the echo in his last phrase.]

Yes?

AUNTIE. I was wondering . . .

Wondering what Manson meant just now.

VICAR. When?

AUNTIE. When he spoke about your brother Robert.

VICAR. I think he made it clear. He said we were--rid of him forever!

AUNTIE [thoughtfully]. Ye-es . . .

William, I begin to fear that man.

VICAR. Whom--Robert?

AUNTIE. No, Manson.

[Re-enter MANSON from door, right. He carries a five-pound note in his hand.]

MANSON. His lordship will be glad to see you.

AUNTIE. Very well, Manson. Why, what have you there?

MANSON. A remedy for misapprehension, ma'am.

AUNTIE. It's a five-pound note.

MANSON. Yes.

AUNTIE. Come, William.

[She goes to the drawing-room door, her head anxiously turned towards MANSON.]

VICAR [at the door]. What are we going to do, Martha?

AUNTIE. I don't know: G.o.d help me, I can't see the way!

[They both go out, MANSON watching them. He then moves up to the fire, and burns the five-pound note. He watches the flames leap up as he speaks.]

MANSON. _Thou givest thy mouth to evil, and thy tongue frameth deceit. Thou sittest and speakest against thy brother: thou slanderest thine own mother's son. These things hast thou done, and I kept silence: thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself: but I will reprove thee, and set them in order before thine eyes_. [Footnote: Psalms 1. 19-21]

[He comes down to the middle of the room. MARY enters eagerly.

Seeing him alone, she gives a little cry of gladness.]

MARY. Oh, how jolly! Where are they?

MANSON. In the next room.

MARY. Ah! AH!

[She comes to his out-stretched arms. He folds her to his heart, facing the audience.]

[Looking up into his face.] Isn't it a great secret? What shall I call you, now we are alone?

MANSON. Ssh! They may hear you!

MARY. If I whisper . . .

MANSON. They are very near! . . .

[Disengaging himself.] I must be about my business. Is this the bell to the kitchen?

MARY. Yes. Let me help you.

[MANSON having rung the bell, they begin to remove the breakfast things. MARY employs herself with the crumb-scoop.]

If auntie and uncle could see me now! If they only knew! I've kept the secret: I've told n.o.body! . . .

These will do for the birds. Look, I'll take them now. [She throws the crumbs out of the French windows.] Poor little mites!

[She returns to the table.]

MANSON. You are fond of the birds?

MARY. Just love them! Don't you?

MANSON, They are my very good friends. Now, take the ca.s.sock.

Fold it up and put it on the chair.

[ROGERS enters whilst he gives this command.]

ROGERS. Well, I'm . . .

'Owever, it's no business of mine!