thinking of the poor man I met this morning.

AUNTIE. ) Yes . . .
VICAR. ) What of him? . . .

MARY. _He_ said he was a wicked man, and at first he looked so
dreadfully wicked, I believed him; but when I began to look at him
closely, and heard him talk about his little girl, everything
seemed different! I could no more believe him, than I can believe
you, uncle, when you say such awful things about yourself! I
believe he was a much better man than he ever dreamed! And so I
think we might find my father just the same, if he was properly
loved and looked after!

VICAR [with determination]. Then listen to me, Mary: I have
something to tell you: that very man you spoke to . . .

[ROGERS enters, his face betraying signs of his morning's
affliction.]

ROGERS. Beg your pardon, sir; but . . .

VICAR. Yes, Rogers: what is it?

ROGERS. Mr. Manson sent me, sir; it ain't my fault! . . .

VICAR. Do explain yourself, Rogers!

ROGERS. Well, sir, it's a bit orkard: it's . . . I really don't
know what you'll say, sir, I don't really . . .