VICAR [breaking down]. O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me out of the body of this death?

[She stands above him, hesitating. After a moment, she says, determinedly.]

AUNTIE. I know: it's this money trouble. It's what Joshua said in his letter about your having to get somebody to help him. Well, that's just what I wanted to speak to you about. I have a way out of the difficulty.

VICAR. It's not the church. I could wish every Stone of it were crumbled into dust!

AUNTIE. William, how wicked of you! . . .

Is it--is it anything to do with your brother Joshua? Why don't you answer?

VICAR. _It has to do with my brother--Robert_.

AUNTIE. Mary's fa . . .

William, did you send him that telegram yesterday?

VICAR. Yes: that was a lie, too!

AUNTIE. Nonsense! Don't be absurd!

VICAR. It was a lie!

AUNTIE. You told him we couldn't do with him because the house was upset: that's true! You told him that the drains were up in the study: that's true!

VICAR. Was that the real reason why we refused to have him here?

Was it?

AUNTIE. I can't think what possessed him to write and say he'd come. We've not heard from him for fifteen years!

VICAR. Whose fault is that?

AUNTIE. Why, his own, of course! He can't expect to be treated decently! [She walks up and down with anger.] It's perfectly absurd, it really is, dear, making all this fuss and trouble about a wretched--

Have you told Mary?

VICAR. No: the _silent_ lie was comparatively easy!

AUNTIE. My dear, do try and be reasonable. Think of what he is!

VICAR. Isn't he my brother?

AUNTIE. No, he's not your brother--at least, nothing that a brother ought to be! Ridicules everything that you hold sacred!

Hates everything you love! Loves everything you hate! . . .

VICAR. _That's_ true!

AUNTIE. A scoffer, an atheist, a miserable drunkard!

VICAR. That was fifteen years ago, remember, after Mary's mother died! . . .

AUNTIE. A man like that never changes! What would have become of that poor child if we hadn't stepped in? Have you ever dared to tell her what her father's like? Of course not! To-day, too, of all days! It's utterly preposterous!

VICAR. That is all the more reason why . . .

AUNTIE. My dear, think of his _occupation_!

VICAR. I think the child ought to be told.

AUNTIE. Of his _occupation_?

VICAR. That, and everything.

AUNTIE. My dear, have you gone perfectly mad? Do you know who's coming? Do you want to advertise his _occupation_ to all the world?

VICAR. Do you think his brother Joshua would mind that?

AUNTIE. It isn't only your brother Joshua! You think of n.o.body but your brother Joshua! Some one else is coming.

VICAR. Who?

AUNTIE. _My brother James_! [She throws down the letter.] Now you've heard it all!

[There is a long silence. Then the VICAR speaks in a low, intense voice of bitter contempt.]

VICAR. Your brother James is coming here today? You have brought him here to help my brother Joshua! _Him_!

AUNTIE. Why not? He's rich! He can do it!

VICAR. So, he can recognise me at last!

AUNTIE. It was as much your fault as his, that you have never met!

He naturally resented our marriage.

VICAR [ironically]. But, of course, now that I'm related to the great and _wealthy_ Bishop of Benares ...

AUNTIE [warmly]. He's as much a bishop as your brother is!

VICAR. He! That gaitered sn.o.b!

AUNTIE. William, how dare you!

VICAR. Yes, he's a bishop! A bishop of stocks and shares! A bishop of the counting-house! A bishop of Mammon!

AUNTIE. William!

VICAR. The devil's own bishop!

AUNTIE. _At least, he isn't a WORKING-MAN_!