MANSON stands, as though carven
in marble, waiting for him to fix it again.]
Now: again, please.
MANSON. You are no longer necessary. Leave this house.
BISHOP. You scoundrel! You impudent scoundrel! You . . .
You . . .
Give me back my five-pound note!
MANSON [pointing to the fire]. It is invested for you.
BISHOP. I will have it back at once!
MANSON. Hereafter, was the arrangement.
BISHOP. Mr. Smythe! Where are you? Do you hear what this
blackguard says?
VICAR. I endorse it, every word.
BISHOP. Martha! . . .
[She turns away from him as from some horror of sin. The BISHOP
stands dumfounded for a moment or two: then he boils over.]
Now I see it all! I've been trapped, I've been tricked! Martha,
this is all your doing! Brought me here on a trumped-up story of
relationship with the Bishop of Benares, to insult me! Oh, what
would that godly man say if he heard of it!--And he shall hear of
it, believe me! Your infamy shall be spread abroad! So this is
your revenge, sir--[he turns to the VICAR]--your revenge for the
contumely with which I have very properly treated you, sir! Now I
understand why I was made to sit down and eat sausages with a
butler--yes, sir, with a butler and a common working-man! Oh! I
could die with shame! You have bereft me of all words! You .
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