Why, his own, of course! He can't expect to be treated
decently! [She walks up and down with anger.] It's perfectly
absurd, it really is, dear, making all this fuss and trouble about
a wretched--
Have you told Mary?
VICAR. No: the _silent_ lie was comparatively easy!
AUNTIE. My dear, do try and be reasonable. Think of what he is!
VICAR. Isn't he my brother?
AUNTIE. No, he's not your brother--at least, nothing that a
brother ought to be! Ridicules everything that you hold sacred!
Hates everything you love! Loves everything you hate! . . .
VICAR. _That's_ true!
AUNTIE. A scoffer, an atheist, a miserable drunkard!
VICAR. That was fifteen years ago, remember, after Mary's mother
died! . . .
AUNTIE. A man like that never changes! What would have become of
that poor child if we hadn't stepped in? Have you ever dared to
tell her what her father's like? Of course not! To-day, too, of
all days! It's utterly preposterous!
VICAR. That is all the more reason why . . .
AUNTIE. My dear, think of his _occupation_!
VICAR.
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