[He enters hurriedly from door, right, watch in hand. He has on his cassock and biretta.] So awkward-- Both my curates down with the whooping-cough! To-day, too! Just when I was expecting . . . [As he goes up stage, left of table, MANSON comes down, right, with serviettes. The VICAR wheels round slowly, facing him. Observing his astonishment, ROGERS steps forward with explanation.] ROGERS. It's the new butler, sir. Mr. Manson, sir. VICAR. Surely, I--I've seen you somewhere before. MANSON [looking at him]. Have you, sir? VICAR. Hm! No, I can't quite . . . ROGERS. Beg pardon, sir: getting on for eight. [He hands him a small silver paten upon which there is a piece of bread.] VICAR [Taking it mechanically]. Hm! These mysteries are not always helpful . . . Anyway, I'm glad to see you, Manson. When did you arrive? [He begins to break the bread into fragments whilst talking.] MANSON. Early this morning, sir. I should have come sooner; but I had a little trouble down at the Customs. VICAR. Indeed! How was that? MANSON. They said something about the new Alien Act, sir. VICAR. Of course, of course. Er . . . You speak English remarkably well. MANSON. I have seen a good deal of the English, one time and another. VICAR. That's good: it will save a lot of explanation. By-the-bye . . . My old friend in Brindisi, who recommended you, writes that you bore a very excellent character with your late employer in India; but there was one matter he didn't mention-- No doubt you will recognise its importance in a clergyman's family-- He never mentioned your religion. MANSON. I can soon remedy that, sir. My religion is very simple. I love God and all my brothers. VICAR [after a pause]. God and your brothers . . . MANSON. Yes, sir: _all_ of them. [The VICAR stands thoughtful for a moment. He places the paten on the table, beside him.] VICAR [slowly]. That is not always so easy, Manson; but it is my creed, too. MANSON. Then-- Brother! [Rapt in thought, the VICAR takes his profferred hand mechanically.] [MARY enters. She is a slim young girl in her teens, the picture of rosy sweetness and health.] MARY. Good-morning, Uncle William! Oh! . . . I suppose you're Manson? I must say you look simply ripping! How do you do? My name's Mary. [She offers her hand.] MANSON [kissing it]. A very dear name, too! MARY [embarrassed, blurting]. We were wondering last night about your religion. I said . . . VICAR. Mary, my child . . . MARY. You don't _look_ like a cannibal. After all, even the devil isn't as black as he's . . . Oh, I beg your pardon: perhaps I'm rude. VICAR. Yes, indeed you are. Don't take any notice of our little feather-brain, Manson. MARY. I say, has uncle told you who's coming to-day? MANSON. No. MARY. Not about Uncle Josh? VICAR. T-t-t! You mustn't call your uncle Joshua that! It is irreverent. He may resent it.