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  • Oh, my dear Pipito.

  • My dear sweet obedient Pipito.

  • You can take him with you if you wish.

  • Oh, I could just imagine my father's face if I were to return to the vicarage with Pipito.

  • Oh, besides, he is yours, Edith.

  • Your own children will be playing with him soon.

  • - Cousin Margaret, one doesn't say such things. - (Laughs)

  • Oh, three days.

  • And you'll be the happy radiant bride.

  • And then lots of little ones all clamouring for rides on Pipito.

  • What fun we used to have in this room.

  • (Piano plays in the next room)

  • Look. Here is the sample we worked together.

  • Under that most forbidding governess we had.

  • ''Young ladies must always have clean hands

  • and press their lips tightly when they chew their food.''

  • She was an old dragon.

  • Oh, yes, she was rather.

  • And this is the bed I lay in the first night I arrived.

  • A little girI of nine.

  • I sobbed and sobbed all night.

  • I tried desperately not to wake you with my sobs.

  • You lay here. Remember?

  • You've not regretted it?

  • Mm?

  • Regretted being my companion?

  • What, living here in Harley Street?

  • 1 0 whole years in the most fashionable part of London.

  • Oh, dear Cousin Edith, what girI in the worId could regret having had such an opportunity?

  • Then why leave?

  • My mother would be delighted for you to stay on.

  • Besides, what hope will there be for you if you bury yourself in the country?

  • Hope?

  • There are no husbands in Hampshire.

  • Not for you.

  • Come.

  • Oh, it's beautiful.

  • You'll marry a man from London.

  • - I'm certain of it. - Oh, will I?

  • I'll tell you his name if you like.

  • You needn't bother. It will not be him.

  • I promise you that.

  • - (Giggles) - Edith.

  • Your mother bids me command you to return to your guests.

  • They're anxious to examine these Eastern delights.

  • Part of your trousseau, I believe.

  • But we have yet to fold them.

  • Well, you've folded one. Now, that's sufficient. Go and display it.

  • Margaret and I will follow after with the others.

  • Good excuse, Henry.

  • Good excuse.

  • You're returning to Hampshire then, to Helstone?

  • Yes.

  • Why?

  • Everyone asks me why.

  • Well?

  • Well, is it so absurd a thing to want to live away from London for a while?

  • You say for a while.

  • You'll return?

  • Perhaps one day.

  • When?

  • Henry, you've become rather importunate.

  • Margaret, I have good reason.

  • - You must have guessed at my feelings for you. - Henry, please.

  • I have never thought of you but as a friend.

  • Pray let us keep it so.

  • Forgive me.

  • Why, Margaret, why?

  • I've wracked my brains continually.

  • Knowing all that London has to offer, why should you wish to bury yourself in the country?

  • Life may be fuller and richer elsewhere.

  • EIsewhere? Margaret, there is no place for you but London.

  • Oh, if you could only see the village green and the church.

  • And the country cottages and the gardens.

  • - And besides... - Yes?

  • I want to have a better acquaintance of my parents.

  • Their humiliation must cease.

  • What humiliation, pray?

  • Well, it is generally noised in London that I've been Edith's companion all these years

  • because my mother suffers from ill-health.

  • Well, is that not true?

  • Partly true.

  • The real reason is that my aunt considered my mother had married beneath her.

  • That is why I've been, as it were, adopted.

  • But your father's a clergyman.

  • Yes. But Papa's living is a very small one.

  • My father is a man of conscience.

  • He thinks for himself.

  • And that is what I intend to do, Henry.

  • Think for myself.

  • Dixon, where've you been, my dear? These flowers should be in the drawing room.

  • I'd finished Miss Margaret's room, ma'am,

  • so I thought I'd give the furniture in Master Frederick's room an extra bit of polish.

  • Frederick's room? But why?

  • Well, I'd like Miss Margaret to see that I've been keeping her brother's room spick and span.

  • It's a wasted effort, Dixon.

  • You know as I do he'll never return.

  • Oh, yes, he will, ma'am.

  • The day is not far off when you'll have your family under this roof once more.

  • You mark my words.

  • Dixon, my son will never come back to England. He can't.

  • But he's innocent, ma'am.

  • And there'll prove him innocent.

  • Dixon, please.

  • All these years I've tried to protect Margaret from the truth.

  • She thinks he's happy living in Spain. Well, let her.

  • - Forgive me, but... - (Horse and carriage)

  • I think I hear them.

  • Charlotte, Miss Margaret's here.

  • Allow me, ma'am.

  • - Margaret. - Oh, Mama!

  • - Welcome home. Welcome home, dear. - Oh, dear Mama.

  • - Had a good journey, Miss Margaret? - Yes, thank you.

  • How are you, Dixon?

  • All the better for seeing you back with the family.

  • - As I said to the mistress, gadding about... - Thank you, Dixon. Thank you.

  • Come along upstairs, dear.

  • - Your room's ready. - Thank you.

  • Dixon, has the... Has the postman called?

  • There's a letter on the mantelpiece, sir.

  • And how was the wedding? You must tell me.

  • Oh, Mama, I should need a whole day to tell you about that.

  • Such excitement.

  • And Edith so lovely.

  • Well, wasn't she, Papa?

  • Another cup, dear?

  • No, thank you.

  • - If you'll excuse me, I'll... - Oh, yes, Richard.

  • I have a rather urgent letter I must answer.

  • Certainly, Richard, by all means. Certainly.

  • Mama...

  • Tell me, was it a pretty dress?

  • What is troubling him?

  • Your father?

  • Nothing that I know of.

  • He looks so careworn.

  • You've grown up now, Margaret.

  • You see him as others see him.

  • He's always like that?

  • Well, I married a scholar.

  • He's only happy in his books.

  • But h is worried, isn't he, Mama?

  • I sometimes think your father enjoys worrying.

  • Oh, Mama, no.

  • Well, it's only a small parish. He should be able to cope.

  • - I shall help him. - Help him?

  • Yes, he readily commands people's help.

  • Everyone is sorry for your father.

  • Oh, I shall enjoy helping him, Mama.

  • After London, I want a useful life.

  • Are your shoulders broad enough?

  • Hm?

  • If you once start helping him, it'll never stop. That's something I discovered.

  • But it's not Papa exactly, it's the cares of the parish.

  • Visiting the old people, reading to them.

  • Well, perhaps even teaching in the school.

  • Sacrifice your life to charitable works?

  • Well, the young do have noble aims.

  • Fleeting perhaps, but noble.

  • I seek the alternative to London society, Mama.

  • And what's that?

  • No veneer.

  • No pretence.

  • The core of things.

  • The heart.

  • The truth.

  • How like your father you are.

  • In London it is always driving in carriages instead of walking.

  • Oh, how I long to use my own two feet.

  • I shall tramp through the woods and across the common.

  • The warm and scented air against my cheeks.

  • And what a delight it will be simply to stand and gaze.

  • Gaze? At what?

  • Oh, everything, Mama. Everything.

  • The wild, free living creatures as they bask and revel in the sunshine.

  • - Margaret. - Yes.

  • Well, I should warn you, we do have a dreadful lot of rain in the district.

  • Oh, Mama, what a thing to say!

  • Well, it's true.

  • Besides, a young girI of your age should have other interests.

  • Indeed.

  • And now that you're home, I must tell your father that we must associate more with the Gormans.

  • Why the Gormans?

  • Well, they do have a son.

  • Mama, I do not want to know the Gormans, father, mother, nor son.

  • But they're very well-respected.

  • They made their fortune in trade, did they not? They are coach builders.

  • And those are the very people I do not want to mix with.

  • But who will you have as friends now you're home?

  • - The village is full of them. - Oh?

  • Cottagers, labourers.

  • Well, ordinary, simple people who are part of it all.

  • Those are the friends I want.

  • - They are? - Yes.

  • Because I want to be part of it all too.

  • Don't you see? That is why I am here.

  • Mama, we really must start thinking about the distribution of winter clothing.

  • I always rely upon Dixon to tell me about the needy and the truly deserving.

  • But if you wish, I'll consult her now.

  • While it's fresh on our minds.

  • Thank you, Mama.

  • - Margaret. - Yes, Papa?

  • Is it of immediate consequence, that tapestry that you're doing?

  • I would like to speak to you in the study.

  • Do sit down, my dear.

  • Well?

  • My mind is made up.

  • I'm resolved.

  • I am leaving the ministry.

  • Papa...

  • I can no longer be a minister in the Church of England.

  • I've prayed to God for guidance.

  • Night and day.

  • For years.

  • But your coming home, Margaret, your honesty and innocence,

  • has caused me to hold fast to my own integrity.

  • I believe in God but I cannot accept the Thirty-Nine Articles.

  • I dissent from the dogma of the established Church.

  • Papa, have you well considered it?

  • It seems so terrible.

  • So shocking.

  • Listen, Margaret, this is the testimony

  • of one who was once clergyman in a country parish.

  • Like myself.

  • It was written by Mr OIdfield,

  • the minister of Carsington 1 60 years ago or more.

  • ''When thou canst no longer continue in thy work,

  • without dishonour to God,

  • forgoing thy integrity,

  • wounding conscience,

  • and hazarding the loss of thy salvation,

  • thou mayest, yea, thou must believe,

  • that God will turn thy very silence to his glory.

  • When God will not use you in one kind, yet he will in another.''

  • I must do what my conscience bids me, must I not, Margaret?

  • Assuredly, Papa.

  • What does Mama say to this?

  • Your mother...

  • has always been ambitious for me.

  • A country parish was not what was in her mind all her years.

  • She wished me to climb.

  • A month ago her wish was granted.

  • The bishop offered me a much better living.

  • A town parish.

  • I refused it.

  • Poor Mama.

  • Had I accepted I would have had to make a fresh declaration of my conformity.

  • I would have had to declare again my belief in the whole of the liturgy

  • and I...

  • I do not. I cannot.

  • - Have you acquainted the bishop with all this? - He has been most kind.

  • He has tried many arguments.

  • Arguments which I have applied to myself with no avail.

  • On Sunday, I preach my farewell sermon.