VICAR. Did he say--unworthy?

MARY. That's what I think he meant. What he said was that perhaps
my father wasn't good enough to be your brother, uncle. That's not
true, is it?

VICAR. No, by Heaven! That's not true!

MARY [rapturously]. Oh, I knew it, I knew it!

VICAR [in an agony]. Stop! You don't understand!

MARY. I understand quite enough! That's all I wanted to know!

VICAR. Listen, child! Listen! I mean that it is I who am not
worthy to be called his brother.

AUNTIE. William, this is absurd!

MARY [snuggling up to him]. Isn't he a dear?

VICAR [freeing himself]. Listen to me, Mary: I have something
awful to tell you: try and bear it bravely. You will hate me for
it--never love me again! . . . No, listen! . . .

Supposing your father were--not what you imagine him to be? . . .

MARY. Uncle, didn't you just say . . .

VICAR. Supposing that wretched man you spoke with just now were