VICAR. Was he--a rough-looking man?

MARY. Dreadfully; and he swore once--but afterwards he said he was
sorry for that.

VICAR. Did he frighten you at all?

MARY. No, not exactly frighten: you see, I felt sorry for him.

VICAR [slowly]. _And he wouldn't tell you his name_? . . .

MARY. No: I asked him, but he wouldn't.

[The VICAR ponders this for a moment.]

AUNTIE. Now, is it God with you or with me, William?

[For a moment this unnerves him. Then setting his teeth together,
he faces his task stubbornly.]

VICAR. Have you any idea about this man?

MARY. How do you mean--any idea?

VICAR. As to why he put this doubt into your head about your
father.

MARY. He seemed to be thinking about himself, and how unworthy he
was of his own little girl.