[MANSON still points. She wavers as in a dream, and at length
moves mechanically across the room, obeying him.]
MANSON. Now, let me tell you exactly why you have sent for me
here. There is a strange and wretched turmoil in your soul: you
have done wrong, and you know it--but you don't know all! You
would keep what miserable little right you have by bolstering it up
with further wrong. And you have sent for me to help you in that
wrong!
AUNTIE. How dare you say that?
MANSON. Haven't you sent for me to help you in your plans about
his brother, Robert?
AUNTIE [faintly]. What plans? . . .
MANSON. The plan of banishing him further from your lives than
ever! The plan of _providing_ for him! The plan of patching up
his bitter wrongs with gold!
AUNTIE. How did you know that?
MANSON. I know _you_! What, do you think that God's eyes are like
your brother's--blind? Or do you think these things can be done in
darkness without crying aloud to Heaven for light?
AUNTIE. I am here to work my will, not yours!
MANSON. What gain do you hope to bring yourself by that?
AUNTIE. I am not thinking of myself! I am thinking only of my
husband's happiness!
MANSON. Behold the happiness you have already brought him!
AUNTIE. There is the child! It would break her heart!
MANSON. What is her heart but broken now--by you?
AUNTIE, Robert himself would be the first to repudiate any other
plan.
MANSON. Have you tried him?
AUNTIE. Of course not; but he must see the impossibility.
MANSON. What impossibility?
AUNTIE. The impossibility of having him here: the impossibility of
letting him see the child: the impossibility of him and his brother
ever meeting again!
MANSON. Is that your only difficulty?
AUNTIE. Only difficulty! What, would you have me welcome him with
open arms?
MANSON. Yes, and heart, too!
AUNTIE. Have him here, entertain him, treat him as a guest?
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 assistance, you can!
VICAR. Manson, how can we bring it about?
AUNTIE, I daren't! I daren't!
VICAR. I dare! I will!
AUNTIE. In God'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 godly 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
assistance--thank God!
[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 assumes the BISHOP'S sign
of blessing as the curtain slowly falls.]