AUNTIE. My dear, circumstances were too strong for us! Can't you see? _You_ were not made to live out your life in any little odd hole and corner of the world! There was your reputation, your fame: you began to be known as an author, a scholar, a wonderful preacher-- All this required position, influence, social prestige. You don't think I was ambitious for myself: it was for you. VICAR. For _me_--yes! And how do you imagine I have benefited by all your scheming, your contriving, your compromising, your . . . AUNTIE. In the way I willed! I am glad of it! I worked for that--_and I won_! . . . Well, what are you troubling about now? VICAR [slowly]. I am thinking of the fact that there has been no child to bless our marriage, Martha--that is, no child of our very own, no child whose love we have not stolen. AUNTIE. My dear . . . VICAR. We have spoken about it sometimes, haven't we? Or, rather--_not_ spoken! AUNTIE. William, why will you think of these things? VICAR. In those first days, dearest, I brought you two children of our own to cherish, little unborn souls crying for you to mother them-- You have fostered only the one. That one is called the Scholar. Shall I tell you the name of the other? AUNTIE [after a moment]. Yes . . . VICAR. I hardly know: I hardly dare to name him, but perhaps it was--the Saint. AUNTIE. What I have done, William, has been done for love of you--you only--you only in the world! VICAR. Yes: that's what I _mean_! [The thought troubles her for a moment; then she paces up and down in agitated rebellion.] AUNTIE. No! I can't believe it! I can't think that love is as wrong as you say! VICAR. Love is a spirit of many shapes and shadows: a spirit of fire and darkness--a minister of heaven and hell: Sometimes I think the very damned know love--in a way. It can inform men's souls with the gladness of high archangels, or possess them with the despair of devils! [She suddenly stands still, struck by the echo in his last phrase.] Yes? AUNTIE. I was wondering . . . Wondering what Manson meant just now. VICAR. When? AUNTIE. When he spoke about your brother Robert. VICAR. I think he made it clear. He said we were--rid of him forever! AUNTIE [thoughtfully]. Ye-es . . . William, I begin to fear that man. VICAR. Whom--Robert? AUNTIE. No, Manson. [Re-enter MANSON from door, right. He carries a five-pound note in his hand.] MANSON. His lordship will be glad to see you. AUNTIE. Very well, Manson. Why, what have you there? MANSON. A remedy for misapprehension, ma'am. AUNTIE. It's a five-pound note. MANSON. Yes. AUNTIE. Come, William. [She goes to the drawing-room door, her head anxiously turned towards MANSON.] VICAR [at the door]. What are we going to do, Martha? AUNTIE. I don't know: God help me, I can't see the way!