AUNTIE. Dearest!--Remember what your uncle said last Sunday about _Pure religion and undefiled_! He mentioned Mrs. Durden only a week ago; but I forgot. Now, run along.

MARY [reluctantly]. Very well, auntie.

[She goes out by the main door.]

AUNTIE [laughing]. Inconsiderate little monkey!

I am glad you have not thought of changing your pretty, native costume, Manson. It is very picturesque; and, besides, to-day there is a special reason why it may be considered complimentary.

[A double knock is heard at the outer door.]

Ah! Quick, Manson! The postman!

[MANSON goes out. AUNTIE takes a look at the coat: rearranges the flowers, humming, meanwhile, "The Church's One Foundation"; and then stands impatiently awaiting MANSON'S reappearance. Presently he returns with a letter on server.]

MANSON. A letter for you, ma'am.

AUNTIE. Ah! What I expected!

[She breaks open the letter and reads it eagerly.]

Excellent! [More dubiously]. Excellent . . .

Manson, we shall have to be very busy to-day. There will be quite a Church Congress to lunch--two bishops!

MANSON. Oh, not as bad as that, ma'am!

AUNTIE. Manson!

MANSON. Beg pardon, ma'am; but master mentioned only one--his brother, the Bishop of Benares.

AUNTIE. _My_ brother will join us also--the Bishop of Lancashire.

This is his letter.

And now let's have breakfast, at once. The vicar is sure to be earlier than he said; and I'm hungry.

[MANSON goes to the door. As he opens it, the VICAR and ROGERS reappear.]

MANSON. Here is master. I'll hurry up the breakfast, ma'am.

VICAR [entering]. Do, Manson. Let's get it over.

[MANSON goes out.]

Excuse me, my dear.

[ROGERS helps him off with the ca.s.sock.]

So tiresome! Not a place in the house to do anything! Confound the drains! Just run up-stairs for my coat, Rogers.

AUNTIE. It's here, dear. I have it warming for you.

VICAR [more graciously]. Oh, thank you, Martha. That will do, then, Rogers. Tell Manson to hurry up.

[ROGERS helps him on and goes out. The ca.s.sock is left lying on the long stool by the window.]

[The VICAR crosses moodily to the fireplace. AUNTIE stands undecided, watching him, the letter in her hand.]

AUNTIE. You're back early, dear.

VICAR. What can you expect? Not a soul there, of course!

AUNTIE. My poor William! I'm glad I thought to hurry up the breakfast.

VICAR. Thanks, dear. You are always thoughtful.

AUNTIE. William . . .

[He looks up.]

I--I want to have a little talk with you.

VICAR. What is it? Any more--worry?

AUNTIE. You needn't make it so.

VICAR.. Ah!

AUNTIE [moving over to him and stroking his hair]. My dearest is not well.

VICAR. I think you are right, Martha. I am not well.

AUNTIE [alarmed]. Not the trouble with your heart again?

VICAR. No; I fancy it goes deeper than that!

AUNTIE. William! What do you mean?

VICAR [suddenly facing her]. Martha! Do you know the sort of man you have been living with all these years? Do you see through me?

Do you know me?--No: don't speak: I see your answer already--Your own love blinds you! Ha! I am a good man!--I don't drink, I don't swear, I am respectable, I don't blaspheme like Bletchley! Oh yes, and I am a scholar: I can cackle in Greek: I can wrangle about G.o.d's name: I know Latin and Hebrew and all the cursed little pedantries of my trade! But do you know what I am? Do you know what your husband is in the sight of G.o.d? He is a LIAR!

AUNTIE. William!

VICAR. A liar! I heard it in my ears as I stood up before Christ's altar in the church this morning, reciting my miserable creed! I heard it in my prayers! I heard it whilst I tasted . . . whilst I drank . . . whilst I . . .

[He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hands.]

AUNTIE. Oh, you are ill!