MARY. I met a man, a poor miserable man--it still seems like a
dream, the way I met him--and he said something dreadful to me,
something that hurt me terribly. He seemed to think that my
father--that perhaps my father--might be nothing of the sort!

AUNTIE. Why, who was he--the man?

MARY. He wouldn't tell me his name: I mistook him for a thief at
first; but afterwards I felt very, very sorry for him. You see,
his case was rather like my own. _He was wishing for his little
girl_.

[There is a short silence.]

VICAR. Where did you meet with him?

MARY. Here, in this room.

AUNTIE. When was this?

MARY. A few minutes ago--just before you came in.

AUNTIE. Where is he now?

MARY. He said good-bye. He has gone away.

AUNTIE. For good?

MARY. Yes, I think so: I understood him to mean that.