Providence specially to favour him:  the poor man with his slender savings need have no fear for the poverty of his gift—­ Let him give all:  it will be accepted.  Those of us who, like yourself, my dear brother—­and I say it in all modesty, perhaps myself—­are in possession of the endowments of learning, of influence, of authority—­we can lend our names to the good work.  As you say so very beautifully:  sacred obligations.

By-the-way, I don’t think I quite caught your views as to the probable cost.  Eh, what do you think?

MANSON.  I think that should depend upon the obligations; and then, of course, the sacredness might count for something.

BISHOP.  Yes, yes, we’ve discussed all that.  But bringing it down to a practical basis:  how much could we manage with?

MANSON.  What do you say to—­everything you have?

BISHOP.  My dear sir, I’m not talking about myself!

MANSON.  Well—­everything the others have?

BISHOP.  My dear sir, they’re not fools!  Do discuss the matter like a man of the world!

MANSON. God’s not watching:  let’s give as little, and grab as much as we can!

BISHOP.  Ssh!  My dear brother!  Remember who’s present! [He glances toward Robert.] However . . . [Coughs.] We will return to this later.  I begin to understand you.

ROBERT.  Yus:  you think you do!

BISHOP.  At the same time, I do think we ought to come to some general understanding; we must count the cost.  Now, from all accounts, you have had some experience of church-building out in India—­not that I think the extravagance for which you are credited would be either possible or desirable in this country—­oh, no!  Thank God, we know how to worship in spirit and in truth, without the aid of expensive buildings!  However, I should like to hear your views.  How did you manage it?

MANSON.  Sacrifice.

BISHOP.  Of course, of course; but practically.  They say it’s an enormous concern!

MANSON.  So it is.

BISHOP.  Well, what would such an establishment as that represent? 
In round numbers, now?

MANSON [calmly].  Numberless millions.

BISHOP.  Numberless mil . . . ! [He drops his fork.] My dear sir, absurd! . . .  Why, the place must be a palace—­fit for a king!

MANSON.  It is!

BISHOP.  Do you mean to tell me that one man alone, on his own naked credit, could obtain numberless millions for such an object as that?  How could you possibly get them together?

MANSON.  They came freely from every quarter of the world.

BISHOP.  On the security of your own name alone?

MANSON.  No other, I assure you.

BISHOP.  For Heaven’s sake, tell me all about it!  What sort of a place is it?

MANSON [seriously].  Are you quite sure you can hear?