AUNTIE.  No!  I can’t believe it!  I can’t think that love is as wrong as you say!

VICAR.  Love is a spirit of many shapes and shadows:  a spirit of fire and darkness—­a minister of heaven and hell:  Sometimes I think the very damned know love—­in a way.  It can inform men’s souls with the gladness of high archangels, or possess them with the despair of devils!

[She suddenly stands still, struck by the echo in his last phrase.]

Yes?

AUNTIE.  I was wondering . . .

Wondering what Manson meant just now.

VICAR.  When?

AUNTIE.  When he spoke about your brother Robert.

VICAR.  I think he made it clear.  He said we were—­rid of him forever!

AUNTIE [thoughtfully].  Ye-es . . .

William, I begin to fear that man.

VICAR.  Whom—­Robert?

AUNTIE.  No, Manson.

[Re-enter MANSON from door, right.  He carries a five-pound note in his hand.]

MANSON.  His lordship will be glad to see you.

AUNTIE.  Very well, Manson.  Why, what have you there?

MANSON.  A remedy for misapprehension, ma’am.

AUNTIE.  It’s a five-pound note.

MANSON.  Yes.

AUNTIE.  Come, William.

[She goes to the drawing-room door, her head anxiously turned towards MANSON.]

VICAR [at the door].  What are we going to do, Martha?

AUNTIE.  I don’t know:  God help me, I can’t see the way!

[They both go out, MANSON watching them.  He then moves up to the fire, and burns the five-pound note.  He watches the flames leap up as he speaks.]

MANSON. Thou givest thy mouth to evil, and thy tongue frameth deceit.  Thou sittest and speakest against thy brother:  thou slanderest thine own mother’s son.  These things hast thou done, and I kept silence:  thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself:  but I will reprove thee, and set them in order before thine eyes. [Footnote:  Psalms 1. 19-21]

[He comes down to the middle of the room.  MARY enters eagerly.  Seeing him alone, she gives a little cry of gladness.]

MARY.  Oh, how jolly!  Where are they?

MANSON.  In the next room.

MARY.  Ah!  AH!

[She comes to his out-stretched arms.  He folds her to his heart, facing the audience.]

[Looking up into his face.] Isn’t it a great secret?  What shall I call you, now we are alone?

MANSON.  Ssh!  They may hear you!

MARY.  If I whisper . . .

MANSON.  They are very near! . . .

[Disengaging himself.] I must be about my business.  Is this the bell to the kitchen?

MARY.  Yes.  Let me help you.

[MANSON having rung the bell, they begin to remove the breakfast things.  MARY employs herself with the crumb-scoop.]

If auntie and uncle could see me now!  If they only knew!  I’ve kept the secret:  I’ve told nobody! . . .