[MANSON has tapped his ear, peremptorily: he fixes his ear-trumpet.] MANSON. I bear you a message from the master of this house. Leave it. BISHOP. Really, I . . . . . . . Most extraordinary! Hm! [He blows down the ear-trumpet, and afterwards wipes it very carefully with his handkerchief. MANSON stands, as though carven in marble, waiting for him to fix it again.] Now: again, please. MANSON. You are no longer necessary. Leave this house. BISHOP. You scoundrel! You impudent scoundrel! You . . . You . . . Give me back my five-pound note! MANSON [pointing to the fire]. It is invested for you. BISHOP. I will have it back at once! MANSON. Hereafter, was the arrangement. BISHOP. Mr. Smythe! Where are you? Do you hear what this blackguard says? VICAR. I endorse it, every word. BISHOP. Martha! . . . [She turns away from him as from some horror of sin. The BISHOP stands dumfounded for a moment or two: then he boils over.] Now I see it all! I've been trapped, I've been tricked! Martha, this is all your doing! Brought me here on a trumped-up story of relationship with the Bishop of Benares, to insult me! Oh, what would that godly man say if he heard of it!--And he shall hear of it, believe me! Your infamy shall be spread abroad! So this is your revenge, sir--[he turns to the VICAR]--your revenge for the contumely with which I have very properly treated you, sir! Now I understand why I was made to sit down and eat sausages with a butler--yes, sir, with a butler and a common working-man! Oh! I could die with shame! You have bereft me of all words! You . . . You . . . You are no scholar, sir! And your Greek is contemptible! . . . [He crosses to AUNTIE.] Martha! You are no sister of mine henceforward! [Going, he returns to her.] Anathema maranatha! [He bounces up to the door, but turns back again for a last word with MANSON.] And I have one word for you, sir! You are a scoundrel, sir--a cheat, an impostor! And if I could have my way with you, I would have you publicly whipped: I would visit you with the utmost rigour of the law: I would nail you up, sir, for an example! MANSON. I have encountered similar hostility before, my lord--from gentlemen very like your lordship. Allow me . . . [He opens the door, his eyes flashing.] BISHOP. Don't trouble, sir. I can get my hat and my stick and my portmanteau for myself! I can do very well without your assistance--thank God! [He stumps out. MANSON closes the door after him, barring it, as it were, with his great left arm. He lifts the other arm slowly, as commanding silence. After a moment the front door is heard slamming noisily.] [AUNTIE sinks, weeping, upon the settee. The VICAR goes over to comfort her. The uplifted hand of MANSON assumes the BISHOP'S sign of blessing as the curtain slowly falls.] THE FIFTH ACT As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged.