AUNTIE [with deadly quietness].  If I were not certain of one thing, I could never forgive you for those cruel words:  William, this is some madness of sin that has seized you:  it is the temptation of the devil!

VICAR.  It is the call of God!

AUNTIE [still calmly].  That’s blasphemy, William!  But I will save you—­yes, I will—­in spite of yourself.  I am stronger than you.

[They look at each other steadily for a moment, neither yielding,]

VICAR.  Then I accept the challenge!  It is God and I against you, Martha!

AUNTIE.  God and I against you, William.

VICAR.  So now—­for my work!

AUNTIE [quietly].  Yes:  what are you going to do?

VICAR.  Three things.

AUNTIE.  Yes—­and they? . . .

VICAR.  Tell Mary everything:  send for my brother, Robert:  and then—­answer that monster in there.

AUNTIE [fearfully].  William, you would never dare! . . .

VICAR.  Look! . . .

[MARY re-enters from the garden.]

MARY.  Auntie!  Uncle!  I want to speak to you at once—­both of you!

VICAR.  You are just in time:  I wanted to speak to you at once.

MARY.  Is it important, uncle?  Mine’s dreadfully important.

VICAR.  So is mine.

AUNTIE [quickly].  Let the child speak, William.  Perhaps . . .

MARY.  I hardly know how to begin.  Perhaps it’s only my cowardice. 
Perhaps it isn’t really dreadful, after all . . .

AUNTIE [troubled].  Why, what are you thinking of, Mary?

MARY.  It’s about something we have never spoken of before; something I’ve never been told.

VICAR [searchingly].  Yes? . . .

AUNTIE [falteringly].  Yes? . . .

MARY.  I want to know about my father.

[There is a short silence.  The VICAR looks at AUNTIE.]

VICAR.  Now:  is God with you or me, Martha?

MARY.  What do you mean by that?  Is it very terrible, uncle?

[He stands silent, troubled.  MARY crosses him, going to AUNTIE.]

Auntie . . .

AUNTIE.  Don’t ask me, child:  I have nothing to tell you about your father.

MARY.  Why, isn’t he . . .

AUNTIE.  I have nothing to tell you.

VICAR.  I have.

AUNTIE.  William! . . .

VICAR.  I have, I say!  Come, sit here, Mary.

[She sits to left of him, on the settee.  AUNTIE is down stage on the other side of him.]

Now!  What do you want to know about your father?

MARY [passionately].  Everything there is to know!

AUNTIE.  William, this is brutal! . . .

VICAR.  It is my work, Martha!—­God’s work!  Haven’t I babbled in the pulpit long enough about fatherhood and brotherhood, that I should shirk His irony when He takes me at my word!