BURGESS. Mr. Morchbanks will bear me out: he was a witness. (Very
solemnly.) Your young woman so far forgot herself as to call me a
silly ole fat 'ead.

MORELL (delighted--with tremendous heartiness). Oh, now, isn't
that EXACTLY like Prossy? She's so frank: she can't contain
herself! Poor Prossy! Ha! Ha!

BURGESS (trembling with rage). And do you hexpec me to put up
with it from the like of 'ER?

MORELL. Pooh, nonsense! you can't take any notice of it. Never
mind. (He goes to the cellaret and puts the papers into one of
the drawers.)

BURGESS. Oh, I don't mind. I'm above it. But is it RIGHT?--that's
what I want to know. Is it right?

MORELL. That's a question for the Church, not for the laity. Has
it done you any harm, that's the question for you, eh? Of course,
it hasn't. Think no more of it. (He dismisses the subject by
going to his place at the table and setting to work at his
correspondence.)

BURGESS (aside to Marchbanks). What did I tell you? Mad as a
'atter. (He goes to the table and asks, with the sickly civility
of a hungry man) When's dinner, James?

MORELL. Not for half an hour yet.