FANNY. That’s all right. Very good indeed. What else?
NEWTE [after an uncomfortable pause]. Well, that’s about all I knew.
FANNY. Yes, but what did you tell him?
NEWTE. Well, of course, I had to tell him something. A man doesn’t marry without knowing just a little about his wife’s connections. Wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him. You’d never told me anything—never would; except that you’d liked to have boiled the lot. What was I to do? [He is playing with a quill pen he has picked up.]
FANNY [she takes it from him]. What did you do?
NEWTE [with fine frankness]. I did the best I could for you, old girl, and he was very nice about it. Said it was better than he’d expected, and that I’d made him very happy—very happy indeed.
FANNY [she leans across, puts her hand on his]. You’re a dear, good fellow, George—always have been. I wouldn’t plague you only it is absolutely necessary I should know—exactly what you did tell him.
NEWTE [a little sulkily]. I told him that your uncle was a bishop.
FANNY [sits back—staring at him]. A what?
NEWTE. A bishop. Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand.