AUNTIE. You told him we couldn't do with him because the house was
upset: that's true! You told him that the drains were up in the
study: that's true!

VICAR. Was that the real reason why we refused to have him here?
Was it?

AUNTIE. I can't think what possessed him to write and say he'd
come. We've not heard from him for fifteen years!

VICAR. Whose fault is that?

AUNTIE. Why, his own, of course! He can't expect to be treated
decently! [She walks up and down with anger.] It's perfectly
absurd, it really is, dear, making all this fuss and trouble about
a wretched--

Have you told Mary?

VICAR. No: the _silent_ lie was comparatively easy!

AUNTIE. My dear, do try and be reasonable. Think of what he is!

VICAR. Isn't he my brother?

AUNTIE. No, he's not your brother--at least, nothing that a
brother ought to be! Ridicules everything that you hold sacred!
Hates everything you love! Loves everything you hate! . . .

VICAR. _That's_ true!