THE RECTOR. Dear me! But--er--what--er----How?

THE SQUIRE. [Deeply-to himself] The whole thing's damn delicate.

[The door right is opened and a MAID appears. She is a
determined-looking female. They face her in silence.]

THE RECTOR. Er--er----your master is not in?

THE MAID. No. 'E's gone up to London.

THE RECTOR. Er----Mr Challenger, I think?

THE MAID. Yes.

THE RECTOR. Yes! Er----quite so

THE MAID. [Eyeing them] D'you want--Mrs Challenger?

THE RECTOR. Ah! Not precisely----

THE SQUIRE. [To him in a low, determined voice] Go on.

THE RECTOR. [Desperately] I asked because there was a--a--Mr.
Challenger I used to know in the 'nineties, and I thought--you
wouldn't happen to know how long they've been married? My friend
marr----

THE MAID. Three weeks.