VICAR. Was that the real reason why we refused to have him here? Was it? AUNTIE. I can't think what possessed him to write and say he'd come. We've not heard from him for fifteen years! VICAR. Whose fault is that? AUNTIE. Why, his own, of course! He can't expect to be treated decently! [She walks up and down with anger.] It's perfectly absurd, it really is, dear, making all this fuss and trouble about a wretched-- Have you told Mary? VICAR. No: the _silent_ lie was comparatively easy! AUNTIE. My dear, do try and be reasonable. Think of what he is! VICAR. Isn't he my brother? AUNTIE. No, he's not your brother--at least, nothing that a brother ought to be! Ridicules everything that you hold sacred! Hates everything you love! Loves everything you hate! . . . VICAR. _That's_ true! AUNTIE. A scoffer, an atheist, a miserable drunkard! VICAR. That was fifteen years ago, remember, after Mary's mother died! . . . AUNTIE. A man like that never changes! What would have become of that poor child if we hadn't stepped in? Have you ever dared to tell her what her father's like? Of course not! To-day, too, of all days! It's utterly preposterous! VICAR. That is all the more reason why . . . AUNTIE. My dear, think of his _occupation_! VICAR. I think the child ought to be told. AUNTIE. Of his _occupation_? VICAR. That, and everything. AUNTIE. My dear, have you gone perfectly mad? Do you know who's coming? Do you want to advertise his _occupation_ to all the world? VICAR. Do you think his brother Joshua would mind that? AUNTIE. It isn't only your brother Joshua! You think of nobody but your brother Joshua! Some one else is coming. VICAR. Who? AUNTIE. _My brother James_! [She throws down the letter.] Now you've heard it all! [There is a long silence. Then the VICAR speaks in a low, intense voice of bitter contempt.] VICAR. Your brother James is coming here today? You have brought him here to help my brother Joshua! _Him_! AUNTIE. Why not? He's rich! He can do it! VICAR. So, he can recognise me at last! AUNTIE. It was as much your fault as his, that you have never met! He naturally resented our marriage. VICAR [ironically]. But, of course, now that I'm related to the great and _wealthy_ Bishop of Benares ... AUNTIE [warmly]. 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.