. .
Eh, what-- Oh! Bless my soul!
[MANSON has been offering him bread for some time. He has just
tumbled to the fact of his presence. He rises.]
My--my Brother from Benares, I presume?
ROBERT. What, _my_ pal, _'is_ brother! Oh, Je'oshaphat!
BISHOP. Ten thousand pardons! Really, my eyesight is deplorable!
Delighted to meet you! . . .
I was just observing to our charming host that--er-- Humph! . . .
Bless me! Now what _was_ I . . .
MANSON. Something about your sacred obligations, I believe.
BISHOP. May I trouble you again?
[MANSON gravely fixes the ear-trumpet in his ear.]
ROBERT. That's right: stick the damned thing in 'is ear-'ole,
comride!
MANSON [through the trumpet]. Your sacred obligations.
BISHOP. Precisely, precisely! Er-- Shall we sit?
[They do so. The BISHOP looks to MANSON to begin. MANSON, failing
him, the spirit begins to work within himself.]
Well--er---speaking of that, of course, my dearly-beloved brother,
I feel very seriously on the matter, very seriously--as I am sure
you do.
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