[Putting her apron to her eyes with a howl.] Owh!
The Dean.
Because I should return to the Deanery with my dignity—that priceless possession of man’s middle age!—with my dignity seriously impaired!
Hannah.
Oh, don’t, sir, don’t!
The Dean.
How could I face my simple children who have hitherto, not unreasonably, regarded me as faultless? How could I again walk erect in the streets of St. Marvells with my name blazoned on the Records of a Police Station of the very humblest description?
[Sinking into a chair and snatching up a piece of breads which he begins munching.
Hannah.
[Wiping her eyes.] Oh, sir, it’s a treat to hear you, compared with the hordinary criminal class. But, master, dear, though my Noah don’t recognize you—through his being a stranger to St. Marvells—how’ll you fare when you get to Durnstone?