He's as much a bishop as your brother is!
VICAR. He! That gaitered snob!
AUNTIE. William, how dare you!
VICAR. Yes, he's a bishop! A bishop of stocks and shares! A
bishop of the counting-house! A bishop of Mammon!
AUNTIE. William!
VICAR. The devil's own bishop!
AUNTIE. _At least, he isn't a WORKING-MAN_!
VICAR [as though stung]. Ah! . . .
[They stand below the table, one on either side, tense with
passion. They remain so.]
[MANSON and ROGERS come in with the breakfast. ROGERS goes out
immediately.]
MANSON. Sorry to have delayed, sir; but you said a quarter to
nine, didn't you, sir?
VICAR. Yes.
MANSON. Breakfasts served, ma'am. It's served, sir.
[They move to the table, absently, first one, then the other, as he
goes to each separately.]
[MANSON serves them in silence for a few moments.]
Beg pardon, sir: what time did you expect the Bishop of Benares?
VICAR. Oh!--_During the morning_, he said. That will mean the
twelve-thirty, I suppose. It's the only convenient service.
Pages:
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42