BISHOP. Numberless mil . . . ! [He drops his fork.] My dear sir,
absurd! . . . Why, the place must be a palace--fit for a king!

MANSON. It is!

BISHOP. Do you mean to tell me that one man alone, on his own
naked credit, could obtain numberless millions for such an object
as that? How could you possibly get them together?

MANSON. They came freely from every quarter of the world.

BISHOP. On the security of your own name alone?

MANSON. No other, I assure you.

BISHOP. For Heaven's sake, tell me all about it! What sort of a
place is it?

MANSON [seriously]. Are you quite sure you can hear?

BISHOP. Perhaps your voice is _not_ quite so clear as it was.
However . . .

[He wipes the inside of the ear-trumpet, and fixes it afresh.]

Now! Tell me about your church.

[During the following speech the BISHOP is occupied with his own
thoughts: after the first few words he makes no attempt at
listening: indeed, the trumpet goes down to the table again in no