MORELL. When you last called--it was about three years ago, I
think--you said the same thing a little more frankly. Your exact
words then were: "Just as big a fool as ever, James?"

BURGESS (soothingly). Well, perhaps I did; but (with conciliatory
cheerfulness) I meant no offence by it. A clergyman is privileged
to be a bit of a fool, you know: it's on'y becomin' in his
profession that he should. Anyhow, I come here, not to rake up
hold differences, but to let bygones be bygones. (Suddenly
becoming very solemn, and approaching Morell.) James: three year
ago, you done me a hill turn. You done me hout of a contrac'; an'
when I gev you 'arsh words in my nat'ral disappointment, you
turned my daughrter again me. Well, I've come to act the part of
a Cherischin. (Offering his hand.) I forgive you, James.

MORELL (starting up). Confound your impudence!

BURGESS (retreating, with almost lachrymose deprecation of this
treatment). Is that becomin' language for a clergyman, James?--
and you so partic'lar, too?

MORELL (hotly). No, sir, it is not becoming language for a
clergyman. I used the wrong word. I should have said damn your
impudence: that's what St. Paul, or any honest priest would have
said to you. Do you think I have forgotten that tender of yours
for the contract to supply clothing to the workhouse?

BURGESS (in a paroxysm of public spirit). I acted in the interest
of the ratepayers, James. It was the lowest tender: you can't
deny that.