The Servant in the House | Page 6

. . .
MARY. Oh, I beg your pardon, auntie dear, I . . .
AUNTIE. Dreaming again! [Putting her arm round her.] Come, I want
you to put your uncle's coat by the fire. He will be cold, coming out of
that draughty church.
MARY [hugging her]. You darling! I believe you think of nobody but
uncle in the world!
AUNTIE. And you, sweetheart: you come next--a very near next! Now,
run along.
[MARY takes the coat to the fire.]
[Surveying the table]. That's very nice, Manson, very nice indeed!
Perhaps, just a little further this way. . . . [Removes flowers.] My
husband is so fond of them. Ye-es; and I wanted things particularly
nice this morning . . .
MARY [at the fire, looking up]. I thought you said you--you didn't
expect him till twelve-thirty! . . .
AUNTIE [absorbed]. Whom?
MARY [chuckling]. The--the Bishop of Benares.
AUNTIE. The--the . . . Oh, it's your uncle I am . . . [To Manson].
By-the-bye, has the postman been yet?
MANSON [at the window]. I can see him coming up the lane. He's
stopped at the next house.
AUNTIE. Oh, then, Mary: will you very much mind if you don't have
breakfast with us this morning? I want to have a private talk with your
uncle.
MARY. Oh, auntie, dear! . . .

AUNTIE. Don't think of yourself, dear-- Remember, there are other
people in the world besides you. Go down into the village, and have
breakfast with poor old Grannie Durden. Take her some nice new-laid
eggs and a pat of butter-- Poor soul, it would be a charity!
MARY. Oh, auntie, she's as deaf as a post!
AUNTIE. Dearest!--Remember what your uncle said last Sunday about
Pure religion and undefiled! He mentioned Mrs. Durden only a week
ago; but I forgot. Now, run along.
MARY [reluctantly]. Very well, auntie.
[She goes out by the main door.]
AUNTIE [laughing]. Inconsiderate little monkey!
I am glad you have not thought of changing your pretty, native costume,
Manson. It is very picturesque; and, besides, to-day there is a special
reason why it may be considered complimentary.
[A double knock is heard at the outer door.]
Ah! Quick, Manson! The postman!
[MANSON goes out. AUNTIE takes a look at the coat: rearranges the
flowers, humming, meanwhile, "The Church's One Foundation"; and
then stands impatiently awaiting MANSON'S reappearance. Presently
he returns with a letter on server.]
MANSON. A letter for you, ma'am.
AUNTIE. Ah! What I expected!
[She breaks open the letter and reads it eagerly.]
Excellent! [More dubiously]. Excellent . . .
Manson, we shall have to be very busy to-day. There will be quite a
Church Congress to lunch--two bishops!
MANSON. Oh, not as bad as that, ma'am!
AUNTIE. Manson!
MANSON. Beg pardon, ma'am; but master mentioned only one--his
brother, the Bishop of Benares.
AUNTIE. My brother will join us also--the Bishop of Lancashire. This
is his letter.
And now let's have breakfast, at once. The vicar is sure to be earlier
than he said; and I'm hungry.
[MANSON goes to the door. As he opens it, the VICAR and ROGERS
reappear.]
MANSON. Here is master. I'll hurry up the breakfast, ma'am.

VICAR [entering]. Do, Manson. Let's get it over.
[MANSON goes out.]
Excuse me, my dear.
[ROGERS helps him off with the cassock.]
So tiresome! Not a place in the house to do anything! Confound the
drains! Just run up-stairs for my coat, Rogers.
AUNTIE. It's here, dear. I have it warming for you.
VICAR [more graciously]. Oh, thank you, Martha. That will do, then,
Rogers. Tell Manson to hurry up.
[ROGERS helps him on and goes out. The cassock is left lying on the
long stool by the window.]
[The VICAR crosses moodily to the fireplace. AUNTIE stands
undecided, watching him, the letter in her hand.]
AUNTIE. You're back early, dear.
VICAR. What can you expect? Not a soul there, of course!
AUNTIE. My poor William! I'm glad I thought to hurry up the
breakfast.
VICAR. Thanks, dear. You are always thoughtful.
AUNTIE. William . . .
[He looks up.]
I--I want to have a little talk with you.
VICAR. What is it? Any more--worry?
AUNTIE. You needn't make it so.
VICAR.. Ah!
AUNTIE [moving over to him and stroking his hair]. My dearest is not
well.
VICAR. I think you are right, Martha. I am not well.
AUNTIE [alarmed]. Not the trouble with your heart again?
VICAR. No; I fancy it goes deeper than that!
AUNTIE. William! What do you mean?
VICAR [suddenly facing her]. Martha! Do you know the sort of man
you have been living with all these years? Do you see through me? Do
you know me?--No: don't speak: I see your answer already--Your own
love blinds you! Ha! I am a good man!--I don't