MANSON. As an honoured guest!

AUNTIE. In this house?

MANSON. This house.

AUNTIE. Good Heavens! what else?

MANSON. Sweep and garnish it throughout, seek out and cleanse its hidden corners, make it fair and ready to lodge him royally as a brother!

AUNTIE [desperately]. I won't do it! I can't! I can't!

MANSON. With my a.s.sistance, you can!

VICAR. Manson, how can we bring it about?

AUNTIE, I daren't! I daren't!

VICAR. I dare! I will!

AUNTIE. In G.o.d's name, how is it possible?

MANSON. _Make me the lord and master of this house for one little hour_!

VICAR. By Heaven, yes!

MANSON. And you? You? . . .

[She falters a few moments: then, utterly broken down, she whispers, feebly.]

AUNTIE. Yes.

MANSON. Then first TO CLEANSE IT OF ITS ABOMINATIONS!

[The BISHOP enters from the drawing-room. He carries a letter in his hand.]

BISHOP. Well, here is the letter I have written to the secretary of our Society: I have explained everything quite nicely; and have warned him, of course, against doing anything definite in the matter until we have consulted your dear brother. Now . . . Eh, what? Oh! . . .

[MANSON has tapped his ear, peremptorily: he fixes his ear-trumpet.]

MANSON. I bear you a message from the master of this house. Leave it.

BISHOP. Really, I . . . . . . . Most extraordinary! Hm!

[He blows down the ear-trumpet, and afterwards wipes it very carefully with his handkerchief. MANSON stands, as though carven in marble, waiting for him to fix it again.]

Now: again, please.

MANSON. You are no longer necessary. Leave this house.

BISHOP. You scoundrel! You impudent scoundrel! You . . .

You . . .

Give me back my five-pound note!

MANSON [pointing to the fire]. It is invested for you.

BISHOP. I will have it back at once!

MANSON. Hereafter, was the arrangement.

BISHOP. Mr. Smythe! Where are you? Do you hear what this blackguard says?

VICAR. I endorse it, every word.

BISHOP. Martha! . . .

[She turns away from him as from some horror of sin. The BISHOP stands dumfounded for a moment or two: then he boils over.]

Now I see it all! I've been trapped, I've been tricked! Martha, this is all your doing! Brought me here on a trumped-up story of relationship with the Bishop of Benares, to insult me! Oh, what would that G.o.dly man say if he heard of it!--And he shall hear of it, believe me! Your infamy shall be spread abroad! So this is your revenge, sir--[he turns to the VICAR]--your revenge for the contumely with which I have very properly treated you, sir! Now I understand why I was made to sit down and eat sausages with a butler--yes, sir, with a butler and a common working-man! Oh! I could die with shame! You have bereft me of all words! You . . .

You . . . You are no scholar, sir! And your Greek is contemptible! . . .

[He crosses to AUNTIE.] Martha! You are no sister of mine henceforward! [Going, he returns to her.] Anathema maranatha!

[He bounces up to the door, but turns back again for a last word with MANSON.]

And I have one word for you, sir! You are a scoundrel, sir--a cheat, an impostor! And if I could have my way with you, I would have you publicly whipped: I would visit you with the utmost rigour of the law: I would nail you up, sir, for an example!

MANSON. I have encountered similar hostility before, my lord--from gentlemen very like your lordship. Allow me . . .

[He opens the door, his eyes flashing.]

BISHOP. Don't trouble, sir. I can get my hat and my stick and my portmanteau for myself! I can do very well without your a.s.sistance--thank G.o.d!

[He stumps out. MANSON closes the door after him, barring it, as it were, with his great left arm. He lifts the other arm slowly, as commanding silence. After a moment the front door is heard slamming noisily.]

[AUNTIE sinks, weeping, upon the settee. The VICAR goes over to comfort her. The uplifted hand of MANSON a.s.sumes the BISHOP'S sign of blessing as the curtain slowly falls.]

THE FIFTH ACT

As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged.

[There is heard a Ring of the Bell. All three turn their heads, alert.]

VICAR. If it's my brother . . .