[The VICAR crosses moodily to the fireplace. AUNTIE stands
undecided, watching him, the letter in her hand.]

AUNTIE. You're back early, dear.

VICAR. What can you expect? Not a soul there, of course!

AUNTIE. My poor William! I'm glad I thought to hurry up the
breakfast.

VICAR. Thanks, dear. You are always thoughtful.

AUNTIE. William . . .

[He looks up.]

I--I want to have a little talk with you.

VICAR. What is it? Any more--worry?

AUNTIE. You needn't make it so.

VICAR.. Ah!

AUNTIE [moving over to him and stroking his hair]. My dearest is
not well.

VICAR. I think you are right, Martha. I am not well.

AUNTIE [alarmed]. Not the trouble with your heart again?

VICAR. No; I fancy it goes deeper than that!

AUNTIE. William! What do you mean?

VICAR [suddenly facing her]. Martha! Do you know the sort of man
you have been living with all these years? Do you see through me?
Do you know me?--No: don't speak: I see your answer already--Your
own love blinds you! Ha! I am a good man!--I don't drink, I don't
swear, I am respectable, I don't blaspheme like Bletchley! Oh yes,
and I am a scholar: I can cackle in Greek: I can wrangle about
God's name: I know Latin and Hebrew and all the cursed little
pedantries of my trade! But do you know what I am? Do you know
what your husband is in the sight of God? He is a LIAR!

AUNTIE. William!

VICAR. A liar! I heard it in my ears as I stood up before Christ's
altar in the church this morning, reciting my miserable creed! I
heard it in my prayers! I heard it whilst I tasted . . . whilst I
drank . . . whilst I . . .

[He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hands.]

AUNTIE. Oh, you are ill!

VICAR [breaking down]. O wretched man that I am! Who shall
deliver me out of the body of this death?

[She stands above him, hesitating. After a moment, she says,
determinedly.]

AUNTIE. I know: it's this money trouble. It's what Joshua said in
his letter about your having to get somebody to help him. Well,
that's just what I wanted to speak to you about. I have a way out
of the difficulty.

VICAR. It's not the church. I could wish every Stone of it were
crumbled into dust!

AUNTIE. William, how wicked of you! . . .

Is it--is it anything to do with your brother Joshua? Why don't
you answer?

VICAR. _It has to do with my brother--Robert_.

AUNTIE. Mary's fa . . .

William, did you send him that te