MANSON. And the Bishop of Lancashire, ma'am?

AUNTIE. He didn't say; but I think we may expect him by the same
train. He would scarcely think of catching the . . .

[There is heard a loud Ringing of the Bell--a bishop at the very
least. All three heads turn automatically.]

Good gracious! Already!

MANSON. It doesn't sound like the Bishop of Benares, ma'am. He
generally comes very quietly.

AUNTIE. Quick!

MANSON. Yes, ma'am.

[He goes out by the main door.]

AUNTIE [rapidly], William, I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean you: I
never thought of you; I was only thinking of Robert. I only think
of you as a great scholar and a saint--yes, you are one!--and as
the man I love! I would sacrifice everything to your happiness.
Robert's nothing to me; that's why I . . . Think of what it might
mean to Mary--we must think of others, William!--our own little
child, as we try to imagine . . .

[The VICAR makes a gesture of anguish.]

As for James, God knows I did it for the best. I love you, my