. .
AUNTIE. Dreaming again! [Putting her arm round her.] Come, I
want you to put your uncle's coat by the fire. He will be cold,
coming out of that draughty church.
MARY [hugging her]. You darling! I believe you think of nobody
but uncle in the world!
AUNTIE. And you, sweetheart: you come next--a very near next!
Now, run along.
[MARY takes the coat to the fire.]
[Surveying the table]. That's very nice, Manson, very nice indeed!
Perhaps, just a little further this way. . . . [Removes flowers.]
My husband is so fond of them. Ye-es; and I _wanted_ things
_particularly_ nice this morning . . .
MARY [at the fire, looking up]. I thought you said you--you didn't
expect him till twelve-thirty! . . .
AUNTIE [absorbed]. Whom?
MARY [chuckling]. The--the Bishop of Benares.
AUNTIE. The--the . . . Oh, it's your _uncle_ I am . . . [To
Manson]. By-the-bye, has the postman been yet?
MANSON [at the window]. I can see him coming up the lane. He's
stopped at the next house.
AUNTIE. Oh, then, Mary: will you very much mind if you don't have
breakfast with us this morning? I want to have a private talk with
your uncle.
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