AUNTIE [preoccupied]. Can't do what, William? VICAR. Behave towards that man like a Christian! He stirs some nameless devil like murder in my heart! I want to clutch him by the throat, as I would some noisome beast, and strangle him! AUNTIE [slowly]. He is greatly changed! VICAR. It is you who have changed, Martha. You see him now with different eyes. AUNTIE. Do I? I wonder! . . . VICAR. After all, why should we invite him here? Why should we be civil to him? What possible kinship can there be between us? As for his filthy money--how did he scrape it together? How did he come by it? . . . AUNTIE. Yes, William, that's true, but the opportunity of turning it to God's service . . . VICAR. Do you think any blessing is going to fall upon a church whose every stone is reeking with the bloody sweat and anguish of the human creatures whom the wealth of men like that has driven to despair? Shall we base God's altar in the bones of harlots, plaster it up with the slime of sweating-dens and slums, give it over for a gaming-table to the dice of gamblers and of thieves? AUNTIE. Why will you exaggerate, my dear?--It is not as bad as that. Why don't you compose yourself and try and be contented and--and happy? VICAR. How can I be happy, and that man poisoning the air I breathe? AUNTIE. You are not always like this, dear! . . . VICAR. Happy! How can I be happy, and my brother Robert what I have made him! AUNTIE. We are not talking of Robert: we are talking of _you_! Think of our love, William--our great and beautiful love! Isn't that something to make you happy? VICAR. Our love? It's well you mention it. That question had better be faced, too! Our love! Well, what of it? What is love? AUNTIE. Oh, William, you _know_ . . . VICAR. Is love a murderer? Does love go roaming about the world like Satan, to slay men's souls? AUNTIE. Oh, now you're exaggerating again! What do you mean? VICAR. I mean my brother Robert! What has love done for him? AUNTIE. Oh, Robert, Robert--I'm sick to death of Robert! Why can't you think of yourself? VICAR. Well, I will! What has love done for me? AUNTIE. William! . . . [The slightest pause. The scene takes on another complexion.] VICAR. Do you remember that day when I first came to you and told you of my love? Did I lie to you? Did I try to hide things? Did I despise my birth? Did _you_? AUNTIE. No, no, William, I loved you: I told you so. VICAR. Did you mind the severance from your family because of me? AUNTIE. Didn't I always say that I was proud to be able to give up so much for you, William? . . . VICAR. Yes, and then what followed? Having given up so much for me, what followed?