VICAR [as though stung]. Ah! . . .

[They stand below the table, one on either side, tense with pa.s.sion. They remain so.]

[MANSON and ROGERS come in with the breakfast. ROGERS goes out immediately.]

MANSON. Sorry to have delayed, sir; but you said a quarter to nine, didn't you, sir?

VICAR. Yes.

MANSON. Breakfasts served, ma'am. It's served, sir.

[They move to the table, absently, first one, then the other, as he goes to each separately.]

[MANSON serves them in silence for a few moments.]

Beg pardon, sir: what time did you expect the Bishop of Benares?

VICAR. Oh!--_During the morning_, he said. That will mean the twelve-thirty, I suppose. It's the only convenient service.

MANSON. And the Bishop of Lancashire, ma'am?

AUNTIE. He didn't say; but I think we may expect him by the same train. He would scarcely think of catching the . . .

[There is heard a loud Ringing of the Bell--a bishop at the very least. All three heads turn automatically.]

Good gracious! Already!

MANSON. It doesn't sound like the Bishop of Benares, ma'am. He generally comes very quietly.

AUNTIE. Quick!

MANSON. Yes, ma'am.

[He goes out by the main door.]

AUNTIE [rapidly], William, I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean you: I never thought of you; I was only thinking of Robert. I only think of you as a great scholar and a saint--yes, you are one!--and as the man I love! I would sacrifice everything to your happiness.

Robert's nothing to me; that's why I . . . Think of what it might mean to Mary--we must think of others, William!--our own little child, as we try to imagine . . .

[The VICAR makes a gesture of anguish.]

As for James, G.o.d knows I did it for the best. I love you, my dear, I love you: I wouldn't have vexed you for the world! After all, he is my brother, William! . . . . I thought of patching up the enmity between you: I thought of all your hopes of rebuilding the church, and James was the only rich man I thought might be induced--under the circ.u.mstances . . .

VICAR. I am in the darkness. I don't know what to do. G.o.d has left me stranded.

[MANSON re-enters. They look at him inquiringly.]

MANSON. It isn't the Bishop of Benares, ma'am.

AUNTIE. Well, who is it?

MANSON. I didn't ask his name, ma'am.

AUNTIE. T-t-t! How is he dressed?

MANSON. Rather oddly, ma'am: I noticed that his legs . . .

AUNTIE. William, it's James! I can't be seen like this. Shew him in. I can slip out this way.

[MANSON goes out.]

William, try and treat him like . . .

VICAR. How? Like a brother?

AUNTIE. I was going to say, like a Priest and a Christian, William.

VICAR. Like a Christian, then.

AUNTIE. My dear!

[She goes out by the door to the right, as MANSON begins to turn the handle of the other door.]

MANSON [outside]. This way, if you please.

[The VICAR, braces himself up and turns towards the door with an effort at cordiality.]

VICAR. Just in time for breakfast, my lord.

[Enter ROBERT SMITH and MANSON. ROBERT'S costume is a navvy's, the knees tied With string.]

ROBERT [grimly]. Thanks, Bill Awlmighty, don't mind if I do. My belly's fair aching.

VICAR. Robert!

ROBERT. Yus, it's me, my 'oly brother!

VICAR. Didn't you--didn't you get my wire?

ROBERT. Yus, I gorit-: _Drains wrong_, eh? Thought I'd like to 'av' a look at 'em--my job, yer know, _drains_! So you'll excuse the togs: remind you of old days, eh what?

VICAR. Robert, what have you come here for?

ROBERT. You arsk me that?

VICAR. Yes, I do. Bob . . .

ROBERT. Why, to see my little gel, o' course--Gawd curse you! . . .