[He motions towards the door; Mrs. Megan, all eyes, follows him
     out.]

Ann.  Oh!  Daddy, they are rotters.  Couldn’t you see they were having the most high jinks?

Wellwyn. [At his picture.] I seemed to have noticed something.

Ann. [Preparing for tea.] They were kissing.

Wellwyn.  Tt!  Tt!

Ann.  They’re hopeless, all three—­especially her.  Wish I hadn’t given her my clothes now.

Wellwyn. [Absorbed.] Something of wild-savage.

Ann.  Thank goodness it’s the Vicar’s business to see that married people live together in his parish.

Wellwyn.  Oh! [Dubiously.] The Megans are Roman Catholic-Atheists,
Ann.

Ann. [With heat.] Then they’re all the more bound. [Wellwyn gives a sudden and alarmed whistle.]

Ann.  What’s the matter?

Wellwyn.  Didn’t you say you spoke to Sir Thomas, too.  Suppose he comes in while the Professor’s here.  They’re cat and dog.

Ann. [Blankly.] Oh! [As Wellwyn strikes a match.] The samovar is lighted. [Taking up the nearly empty decanter of rum and going to the cupboard.] It’s all right.  He won’t.

Wellwyn.  We’ll hope not.

     [He turns back to his picture.]

Ann. [At the cupboard.] Daddy!

Wellwyn.  Hi!

Ann.  There were three bottles.

Wellwyn.  Oh!

Ann.  Well!  Now there aren’t any.

Wellwyn. [Abstracted.] That’ll be Timson.

Ann. [With real horror.] But it’s awful!

Wellwyn.  It is, my dear.

Ann.  In seven days.  To say nothing of the stealing.

Wellwyn. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much.  Ought to have kept it locked up.

Ann.  You ought to keep him locked up!

     [There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.]

Wellwyn.  Here’s the Vicar!

Ann.  What are you going to do about the rum?

Wellwyn. [Opening the door to Canon Bertley.] Come in, Vicar! 
Happy New Year!

Bertley.  Same to you!  Ah!  Ann!  I’ve got into touch with her young husband—­he’s coming round.

Ann. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go—–­Moses!

Bertley. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he’s not really a bad youth.  Afraid he bets on horses.  The great thing, Wellwyn, with those poor fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot.

Ann. [To herself-gloomily.] That’s not difficult.  What would you do, Canon Bertley, with a man who’s been drinking father’s rum?

Bertley.  Remove the temptation, of course.