It is not true! It is a lie! It's
entirely your father's own fault!
MARY. I don't understand. Why should Uncle William lie to me?
AUNTIE. He is overwrought: he is ill. It is like your uncle
William to take upon himself another man's wickedness!
MARY. Then, _that_ is true, at least: my father is a wicked
man! . . .
AUNTIE. I don't want to speak about your father!
MARY. He is nothing that I have wished him to be: not _brave_ . . .
VICAR. Yes--_that_ at least!
MARY [turning towards him]. _Beautiful_? . . .
VICAR. What do you mean by beautiful?
MARY. You know what I mean: What you once said God was, when you
called _Him_ beautiful.
VICAR. I have no right to judge your father.
[She perceives the evasion.]
MARY. Not even--_good_? . . .
VICAR. He is what I have made him. I and no other!
[She stands looking at him piteously.]
AUNTIE. There is another--I! I kept them apart: I poisoned your
uncle against him: I took you away from him: It was I who kept you
in ignorance of your father!
MARY.
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