VICAR. The devil's own bishop!

AUNTIE. _At least, he isn't a WORKING-MAN_!

VICAR [as though stung]. Ah! . . .

[They stand below the table, one on either side, tense with
passion. They remain so.]

[MANSON and ROGERS come in with the breakfast. ROGERS goes out
immediately.]

MANSON. Sorry to have delayed, sir; but you said a quarter to
nine, didn't you, sir?

VICAR. Yes.

MANSON. Breakfasts served, ma'am. It's served, sir.

[They move to the table, absently, first one, then the other, as he
goes to each separately.]

[MANSON serves them in silence for a few moments.]

Beg pardon, sir: what time did you expect the Bishop of Benares?

VICAR. Oh!--_During the morning_, he said. That will mean the
twelve-thirty, I suppose. It's the only convenient service.