AUNTIE. _The Society for the Extension of Greater Usefulness among the Clergy_. . . . It was an admirable suggestion--one that ought to appeal particularly to you. Haven't you always said, yourself, that if only you had enough money to . . . VICAR. Did you happen to realise his explanation as to the constitution of the society? AUNTIE. To tell the truth, I wasn't listening just then: I was thinking of you. VICAR. The _financial_ possibilities of the scheme--Did his eloquence on that point escape you? AUNTIE. Figures always bore me, and James uses dreadfully long words. VICAR. Did you hear nothing of _profits_? AUNTIE. I only heard him say that you were to . . . VICAR. Well, didn't it strike you that throughout the entire discussion he spoke rather like a _tradesman_? AUNTIE. My dear, you can't expect everybody to be an idealist! Remember, he's a practical man: he's a bishop. VICAR. Didn't it strike you that there are some things in this world which are not to be bought at _any_ price? AUNTIE. My dear William, bricks and mortar require money: you can't run a society without funds! VICAR. Yes, but what of flesh and blood? What of reputation? What of a man's name? AUNTIE. Whatever do you mean now? VICAR. Didn't his proposal practically amount to this: that we should turn my brother Joshua's name and reputation into a bogus Building Society, of which the funds were to be scraped together from all the naked bodies and the starving bellies of the world, whilst _we_ and our thieving co-directors should collar all the swag? AUNTIE. Now, that's exactly where I think you are so unjust! Didn't you yourself refuse, before he spoke a word, to let him put a penny of his own into the concern? I must say, you were unnecessarily rude to him about that, William! VICAR. Yes, and didn't he jump at the suggestion! AUNTIE. He offers to give his patronage, his influence, his time. All he asks of your brother is his bare name. VICAR. Yes, and all he asks of me is simply my eloquence, my gift of words, my power of lying plausibly! AUNTIE. William, he is offering you the opportunity of your life! VICAR. Damnation take my life! AUNTIE. William, why are you so violent? VICAR. Because violence is the only way of coming to the truth between you and me! AUNTIE [now thoroughly afraid]. What do you mean by the truth, William? VICAR. I mean this: What is the building of this church to you? Are you so mightily interested in architecture, in clerical _usefulness_, in the furtherance of God's work? AUNTIE. I am interested in your work, William. Do you take me for an atheist? VICAR. No: far worse--for an idolater! AUNTIE. William . . .