VICAR. And I! . . .
MARY. And, indeed, I do! . . .
Now, I've been thinking: I've been trying to look the worst in the face. Supposing my father is the wicked man you say—the very, very wickedest man that ever lived, don't you think if we tried to love him very much it might make a difference?
VICAR. What made you think of that, Mary? . . .
MARY [simply]. It's what you taught me, uncle, in your sermons.
VICAR. I taught you? . . .
MARY. Yes: and, besides, there's another reason. . . I've been thinking of the poor man I met this morning.
AUNTIE. ) Yes . . .
VICAR. ) What of him? . . .
MARY. He said he was a wicked man, and at first he looked so dreadfully wicked, I believed him; but when I began to look at him closely, and heard him talk about his little girl, everything seemed different! I could no more believe him, than I can believe you, uncle, when you say such awful things about yourself! I believe he was a much better man than he ever dreamed! And so I think we might find my father just the same, if he was properly loved and looked after!
VICAR [with determination]. Then listen to me, Mary: I have something to tell you: that very man you spoke to . . .