AUDR. You called me a bad angel—and you don’t think me good enough to kiss her. (Sidling up to the steps; he makes a deprecating movement to prevent her, but she takes no notice.) If you knew it would give me a splendid impulse to goodness, would you refuse me? (She watches him very closely; he watches her, half deprecating, half consenting; she goes up a step or two; he again makes a deprecating gesture, but does not stop her.) Can’t you see what an awful effect it would have on me if you thought me worthy to be in the company of your good angel? It would be almost a sacrament! (Going up steps. He makes a stronger gesture of deprecation.) Ah, you think I’m not worthy——
MICH. No, no——
AUDR. (on top of steps, very seductively). Do save me. I’m worth saving. (Whispers.) I may kiss her? I may? I may? (He does not reply. She very reverently takes the picture from the wall, turns round, kisses it reverently, hangs it up again, comes down slowly to him.) Your bad angel has kissed your good angel. (A mock curtsey to him.)
(Exit softly. MICHAEL stands troubled.)
CURTAIN.
(Four months pass between Acts I. and II.)
[ACT II]
SCENE.—The Shrine on Saint Decuman’s Island in the Bristol Channel. A living room built round the shrine of the Saint, a fine piece of decayed Decorated Gothic now in the back wall of the room. A large fireplace down right. A door above fireplace. A door left; two windows, one on each side of the shrine, show the sea with the horizon line and the sky above. A bookcase; a table; old oaken panelling, about seven feet high, all round the room, and above them white-washed walls. Red brick floor. Everything very rude and simple, and yet tasteful, as if it had been done by the village mason and carpenter under MICHAEL’S direction. Time, a September evening. Discover ANDREW GIBBARD packing a portmanteau, and EDWARD LASHMAR (FATHER HILARY), a Catholic priest, about sixty, very dignified and refined. Enter WITHYCOMBE, an old boatman.