WELLWYN. It is, my dear.
ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing.
WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it locked up.
ANN. You ought to keep him locked up!
[There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.]
WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar!
ANN. What are you going to do about the rum?
WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar! Happy New Year!
BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her young husband—he's coming round.
ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go—-Moses!