MARY. Dreadfully; and he swore once—but afterwards he said he was sorry for that.
VICAR. Did he frighten you at all?
MARY. No, not exactly frighten: you see, I felt sorry for him.
VICAR [slowly]. And he wouldn't tell you his name? . . .
MARY. No: I asked him, but he wouldn't.
[The VICAR ponders this for a moment.]
AUNTIE. Now, is it God with you or with me, William?
[For a moment this unnerves him. Then setting his teeth together, he faces his task stubbornly.]
VICAR. Have you any idea about this man?
MARY. How do you mean—any idea?