MORELL (delighted--with tremendous heartiness). Oh, now, isn't that EXACTLY like Prossy? She's so frank: she can't contain herself! Poor Prossy! Ha! Ha! BURGESS (trembling with rage). And do you hexpec me to put up with it from the like of 'ER? MORELL. Pooh, nonsense! you can't take any notice of it. Never mind. (He goes to the cellaret and puts the papers into one of the drawers.) BURGESS. Oh, I don't mind. I'm above it. But is it RIGHT?--that's what I want to know. Is it right? MORELL. That's a question for the Church, not for the laity. Has it done you any harm, that's the question for you, eh? Of course, it hasn't. Think no more of it. (He dismisses the subject by going to his place at the table and setting to work at his correspondence.) BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). What did I tell you? Mad as a 'atter. (He goes to the table and asks, with the sickly civility of a hungry man) When's dinner, James? MORELL. Not for half an hour yet. BURGESS (with plaintive resignation). Gimme a nice book to read over the fire, will you, James: thur's a good chap. MORELL. What sort of book? A good one? BURGESS (with almost a yell of remonstrance). Nah-oo! Summat pleasant, just to pass the time. (Morell takes an illustrated paper from the table and offers it. He accepts it humbly.) Thank yer, James. (He goes back to his easy chair at the fire, and sits there at his ease, reading.) MORELL (as he writes). Candida will come to entertain you presently. She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the lamps. MARCHBANKS (starting up in the wildest consternation). But that will soil her hands. I can't bear that, Morell: it's a shame. I'll go and fill them. (He makes for the door.) MORELL. You'd better not. (Marchbanks stops irresolutely.) She'd only set you to clean my boots, to save me the trouble of doing it myself in the morning. BURGESS (with grave disapproval). Don't you keep a servant now, James? MORELL. Yes; but she isn't a slave; and the house looks as if I kept three. That means that everyone has to lend a hand. It's not a bad plan: Prossy and I can talk business after breakfast whilst we're washing up. Washing up's no trouble when there are two people to do it. MARCHBANKS (tormentedly). Do you think every woman is as coarse-grained as Miss Garnett? BURGESS (emphatically). That's quite right, Mr. Morchbanks. That's quite right. She IS corse-grained. MORELL (quietly and significantly). Marchbanks! MARCHBANKS. Yes. MORELL. How many servants does your father keep? MARCHBANKS. Oh, I don't know. (He comes back uneasily to the sofa, as if to get as far as possible from Morell's questioning, and sits down in great agony of mind, thinking of the paraffin.) MORELL. (very gravely). So many that you don't know. (More aggressively.) Anyhow, when there's anything coarse-grained to be done, you ring the bell and throw it on to somebody else, eh? That's one of the great facts in YOUR existence, isn't it?