I don't know. I've been puzzling about something all the morning; but there was nothing clear. It only came clear a few minutes ago--just before I went into the garden. But I think it must have begun quite early--before breakfast, when I was talking to my--to Manson, (AUNTIE: Manson!...) And then, all of a sudden, as I was sitting there by the fireplace, it came --all in a flash, you understand! I found myself wishing for my father: wondering why I had never seen him: despising myself that I had never thought of him before. (VICAR: Well, what then?) I tried to picture him to myself. I imagined all that he must be. I thought of you. Uncle William, and Uncle Joshua, and of all the good and noble men I had ever seen or heard of in my life; but still--that wasn't quite like a father, was it? I thought a father must be much, much better than anything else in the world! He must be brave, he must be beautiful, he must be good! I kept on saying it over and over to myself like a little song: he must be brave, he must be beautiful, he must be good! (Anxiously.) That's true of fathers, isn't it, uncle? Isn't it?

Mary Monologue from The Servant in the House

Rehearse Mary's monologue