Stephen (removing the pipe). So you think you're good enough to marry my daughter, do you? Walter. I ventured to think so.

Ste. Why?

Walter. Because I love her, Mr. Verity.

Ste. That the only reason?

Walter. No.

Ste. What are the others?

Walter. She loves me.

Ste. Did she tell you so?

Walter. Yes.

Ste. Um! (Slight pause; he smokes reflectively.)

That all?

Walter (rather startled). All what?

Ste. All your reasons.

Walter. Yes, I think so.

Ste. They're too few.

Walter. But——

Ste. I'll ask you something.

Walter. Yes?

Ste. What do you want to get married for?

Walter. I'm in love.

Ste. That's no reason. You curates, you're all alike—must be with marrying other folk so much. Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be scheduled along with the other dangerous trades.

Walter. You're laughing at me.

Ste. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing matter, I know.

Walter. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. Verity?

Ste. Yes. (He rises, knocks at his pipe in the grate, puts it on the mantelpiece and goes himself to the door left. His deliberate movements cause Walter an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen opens the door and calls.) Lucy!

Lucy (off l.). Yes.

Ste. Come in here. (He leaves the door open and goes below door. Enter Lucy Verity. She is twenty-one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse, pointing to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly dressed. Obviously her father is her master, but she is not without indications of a will of her own. Walter rises as she enters.) Here's a friend of yours. Tells me he wants to marry you.

(Lucy crosses r. of table.)

Lucy (anxiously). Yes, father.

Ste. It's true, then? (Motions her to sit.)

Lucy. Yes. (Sits r. of table.)

Ste. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates always marry young and have enormous families on no income. (Walter makes an attempt to protest; Stephen proceeds unmoved.) I advise you not to marry him. If he wants a wife, he'll not go begging one for long. There's always crowds of silly girls ready to help a chap to button his collar behind.

Walter. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us.

Ste. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke to me.

Walter. I can very well believe that. But it's a thing that's bound to come to you sooner or later.

Ste. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound to come at all. My daughter's no need to find a man to keep her. She's a head on her shoulders and sense enough to know when she's well off. Who's going to look after my house if Lucy marries? Tell me that, young man.

Walter. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. Verity.

Ste. And I'm not going to.

Walter. There'd be plenty of time to consider that. We're not proposing to get married to-morrow.

Ste. 'Um. Very good of you. Want a long engagement, eh?

Walter. Moderately.

Ste. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way first? (Sitting behind table c.)

Lucy. Father!

Ste. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk in a minute. (To Walter.) What do you want to wait for?

Walter. I'm hoping to get a living before long.

Ste. So you have proposed on nothing a year. I thought as much.

Walter (with excessive dignity). I'm not without money, sir. I could afford to marry at once.

Ste. Could you now? And what might you call being not without money?

Walter. I've £150 a year.

Ste. You plutocrat! Lucy, do you hear that? He's £150 a year. Nice sort of marrying income, that is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's your father going to do for you when you marry?

Walter. I don't know. I haven't asked him.

Ste. Well, give a guess at it.

Walter. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education.

Ste. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you to-day. I had no education and I'm worth—well, never mind. Lucy, tell him what I've been telling you to-night.

Lucy. What you told me?

Ste. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of talking now.

Lucy. But——

Ste. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it?

Lucy (as if repeating a lesson). You told me that mother left me money which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of yielding £1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the money lies to my credit at the bank.

Ste. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say to that?

Walter. Of course I didn't know.

Ste. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion. You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond as you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't spend as fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got.

Walter. I knew you were a successful man, sir.

Ste. I've made my way. I began low and I'm no class now, bar what they think of me at the bank—and that's a fat lot more than they think of any fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know where Lucy's bit comes from?

Walter. Really, I'm——

Ste. Her grandfather kept the Black Bull. That's where it was made, except what I've added to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were a good thing in his time for a landlord that kept off the drink.

Walter. I've no doubt it was honestly made.

Ste. Aye, ye would think that now you fancy your chance of fingering it. It was made in the way of business same as my own was, and that means the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still and think about honesty. Too busy downing the other fellow for that. And now you've got it. That's me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publican's daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you were?

Walter. I don't believe very much in artificial class distinctions, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Don't you? Not in your business hours, you mean. Not so long as you remember you're a parson.

Lucy. Father! (Rises.)

Ste. Well, what's the matter with you? Do you want to marry him?

Lucy. Yes.

Ste. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. You're an heiress. He's a pauper..

Walter. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree.

From the worldly point of view——

Ste. It's the only view I care-about. (To Lucy.) With your money you can look high.

Lucy. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a husband, I'll let you know. I'm thinking of marrying one at present.

Ste. (immensely surprised). Hullo! Showing spirit, are you? (Rises.)

Lucy. It's the first time, if I am.

Ste. And it had better be the last, if you don't want to quarrel. I'm not one of these weak-kneed modern fathers that let themselves be browbeaten by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll get him whether I consent or not?

Lucy. I hope you will consent. (Pause.),

Ste. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy. It's a soft job, and a real man looks for a fighting chance in life.

Walter. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Who do you fight with?

Walter. Evil, in every shape and form.

Ste. 'Um, the devil's game for a few rounds yet.

Walter. He's an old hand, and if we haven't knocked him out we're weakening his defence.

Ste. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it.

Walter. In a good cause, I hope.

Ste. The cause is all right. You're a parson. Got the good of the poor at heart and all that sort of thing?

Walter. I hope so.

Ste. Yes. (Briskly.) Well now, about Lucy.

Walter. Is that the fight?

Ste. I'm coming to the fight. You say you love her.

Walter. I do. (Stephen is between them.)

Ste. (to Lucy). You love him?

Lucy. Yes. (Lucy r., Stephen c., Walter l.)

Ste. (holding up his hands evenly). Quits so far. Income on the male side £150 a year. (Surveys his right hand.) Income on the female side £1,000. (Depressing his left hand as if weighing the incomes in scales.) Hullo! wo! something wrong there. Doesn't balance.

Walter (bitterly). Do you think I don't know it?

Ste. (dropping his hands). Yes. You've hooked your fish, my boy. But you're a long way off landing her yet.

Walter. Tell me what you want me to do.

Ste. (curtly). Earn her.

Walter. Yes, but how? (Steps forward.)

Ste. By fighting. By doing something for the good of the town. There's this proposal to buy up the Polygon.

Walter (eagerly). Yes?

Ste. Well, now you know what you've to do. You know what Polygon people are and you know what the town needs.

Walter. The town needs space and decent houses.

Ste. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon set, and you'll not find 'em seeing it so easy.

Walter. You can't blame them if they don't exactly welcome the idea of turning out and making fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural.

Ste. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not stop us. All you've to do is to make them see they're an obstacle to progress in this town. They're bound to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too puffed up with pride to know the townspeople and——

Walter. And they're my father and my friends, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class distinctions during business hours. Scratch the curate and find the hypocrite.

Walter (keeping his temper smilingly). As bad as all that?

Ste. The moment I attack your class you're up in arms to defend 'em.

Walter. No. They take up too much room in the Polygon. I never said they didn't. But they'll not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends on Sir Charles' readiness to sell.

Ste. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of difference, and if you want Lucy as bad as you say, here's your way to help yourself to her.

Walter. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it.

Ste. Don't you?

Walter. Well, do you? The town proposes to buy the Polygon for the people. It's an excellent project and my plain duty is to further it. I shan't fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant unheaval in the lives of a few people who happen to be dear to me.

Ste. Oh! Well, I don't want words, I want deeds. Succeed and I'll think about calling you son-in-law—if Lucy doesn't change her mind meantime.

Walter. I can't see why you insist on making a kind of bribe of Lucy when there's only one course open to me in any case.

Ste. (grimly). I'm making sure of things.

Lucy. Father, you don't doubt——

Ste. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt if he'll have the pluck to face old Vining in the Polygon—I doubt lots of things. Put it that I'm giving him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back.

Walter (desperately). I don't want Dutch courage. Is there any way of convincing you that I mean what I say?

Ste. There's going and doing it.

Walter. Very well, I will. (Moving as if to go.) Ste. (stopping him). Remember, you're not engaged to Lucy yet.

Walter. I understand. (Crosses r.)

Ste. That'll do, then. You know what you've to do. Good-night.

Walter. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity.

(Lucy moves towards right door.)

Ste. (to Lucy). You stay where you are. Say good-night to him while I've got my eye on you. He can find the front door without your help.

(Lucy and Walter shake hands, R.)

Walter. Good-night.

(Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes Lucy from head to foot before speaking. Lucy crosses and sits l. of table.)

Ste. (before fire, judicially). It strikes me pretty forcibly I've brought a fool into the world. (Sharply.) How long's this been going on behind my back?

Lucy (with an air of standing up to him). Nothing's gone on behind your back. I told Walter at once he must speak to you.

Ste. Umph! If you'd told me you wanted help to send him about his business there'd have been some sense in it. But you backed him up. You showed, fight. You're getting proud, my girl.

Lucy. I've grown up, father.

Ste. Grown up, have you? All right. If you fancy you're too old to come to me for advice you can do without.

Lucy. You know I want your advice.

Ste. So as you can do opposite, eh?

Lucy. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never disobeyed you in my life.

Ste, And you'd better not begin now, or you and I will fall out. Ha! So you're grown up, are you? Yes, you've been a legal woman for a week. Only I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll allow I know the world better than you.

Lucy. Of course.

Ste. Oh, you do agree to that, do you?

Lucy. Certainly.

Ste. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself away on young Montgomery..(Persuasively.) He's not up to your weight, Lucy. Polygon type, he is. You know, shove all your goods in the shop window. Live in a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap because the neighbourhood's gone down. They're not solid.. Lucy, you and I together could buy up the whole, crowd of swells to-morrow..

Lucy. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd a penny piece in the world. I don't think my money must make any difference.

Ste. Don't be silly. Money makes all differences. We're all born without pockets. It's pockets or no pockets that makes us rich or poor. Yesterday you didn't knew you'd a pocket and the Polygon looked big and young Montgomery, he looked big. I don't blame you. It looked a good thing.

Lucy. It looks the same to-day as it did yesterday.

Ste. Women are fools over money. I did think you'd more sense. (Dogmatically.) Money should, marry money. (With rising irritation.) It's all my eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless curate.

Lucy (rises). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I hope we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you—oh, I'm sorry.

Ste. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions for you if you've none for yourself. (R.d.) When you marry there's two things for it—money or birth—and you'll not find either in Polygon. They're a bad imitation of the real thing—about as near as the shoddy Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a handle to his name. (Crosses to Lucy.) If you must get married, I'll find you a husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to leave your old dad if you are a free woman.

Lucy (quietly). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're not in any hurry.

Ste. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win.

Lucy. You've already given a conditional consent.

Ste. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set quiet till I've put the business through.

(Puts ink on table from sideboard.)

Lucy. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you don't mean that!

Ste. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money.

Lucy. But this isn't money, is it? It's for the town.

Ste. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town.

Lucy. Then you'd——

(Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's obvious relief.)

Janet. Mr. Bamford, Mr. Alcorn.

Ste. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't go beyond call, Lucy. I'll be wanting you soon.

(Exit Lucy l.)

(Enter r. Bamford and Alcorn.)

(Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. He is a bachelor of forty, a bon viveur and a sportsman. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a white four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold pin. He is well covered with flesh, but not yet as gross as he probably will be in a few years. His clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he wears spats. A noticeably heavy gold chain crosses his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is tall, spare and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping moustache. He wears a frock coat, and his prosperity, though evident, is less ostentatious than Bamford's.)

Ste. Good-evening, gentlemen. (To Janet.) Send Mr. Smithson up when he comes. No one else. Janet. Yes, sir. (Exit Janet.)

Alcorn (briskly). Evening, Verity.

(Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen.)

Ste. Sit down. Any news?

(Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and Alcorn l. of table.)

Alcorn (producing letter from his pocket). Yes, my brother's sent this on. (Hands letter to Stephen.) From Sir Charles' agent. He's abroad, Sir Charles.

Bamford. Yes, confound him. How dare he be abroad when we want him?

(Stephen reads the letter.)

Ste. (looking up). Dodging duns. (To Bamford.) You've seen this?

Bamford (gloomily). Yes.

Alcorn (equally gloomily). It's not encouraging.

Ste. (returning the letter to Alcorn). What isn't encouraging?

Alcorn. Why, this. (Reading the letter.) "Speaking for myself alone, I consider it extremely improbable that Sir Charles will consent to a sale of the Polygon to your company." (Leaves letter on the table.)

Ste. There's nothing to be afraid of there.

Alcorn. I don't know so much about that. These land owning fellows know they're no good at business. They leave it to their agents, and if the agent writes like that, you can take it he knows.

Ste. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a business man, but his agent is. If there's a chance of selling, that agent wants a top price; naturally he writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer.

Bamford. You've a head on your shoulders, Verity.

Ste. (to Bamford). It all depends on what you told us. If your information's correct, they'll be only too glad to sell.

Alcorn. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles is in low water.

Bamford. He's dropped a pot of money lately. It's a well known fact. I know one bookie that's taken ten thousand off him in the season, and he's not the only one.

Alcorn (sanctimoniously). Deplorable wastrel.

Ste. Eh? Oh, aye! (Ironically.) Lamentable prodigality. Shocking extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn?

But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the better for us, so you might as well be decently grateful instead of getting mealy mouthed over it.

Bamford. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming along here what's to be done with the land.

Alcorn. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is to get possession of the land.

Ste. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. The land's as good as ours at our own price. Sir Charles 'ull jump at it.

Bamford. Well, I'm for building on it.

Alcorn. And I'm not so sure.

Bamford. Of course you're on my side, Verity?

Ste. Your side?

Bamford. For building.

Ste. No.

Bamford. What, and you a builder!

Ste. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. I've made my money.

Alcorn. I'm out for making an open space of it.

Bamford. You're a blooming philanthropist.

Ste. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our last meeting. You don't grasp the idea yet. We buy the land from Sir Charles.

Bamford. Yes.

Ste. Then we create a demand in the town for a recreation ground.

Alcorn. And you back it up in the Council.

Ste. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves officially.

Alcorn. We force the town to buy from us.

Ste. And get a quick return of our capital with a clinking profit.

Bamford (obstinately), Well, I thought it was houses. Houses are safe, and you'd easier raise a cry for houses than playing fields.

Ste. Depends how you go about it. Work it proper and you could get them yelling like kids for a municipal service of flying machines.

(Enter Smithson, r.)

Smithson. Good evening, gentlemen all.

(Stephen grunts and rises.)

Alcorn. } Good evening

Bamford. } Good evening

(Stephen gives Smithson his chair, and takes the vacant one r. c. of table.)

Smiths. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing my time well. Sowing the seed.

Ste. Been getting at the voters?

(Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen.) Smiths. Yes, one or two.

Ste. You've been wasting time. I've collared a man who'll bring in voters by the score.

Alcorn. Who might that be, Mr. Verity?

Ste. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For all their talk, the Church still has a big hold on the poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy on our side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. Bamford. Aye. Good man, that, Verity.

Ste. (to Smithson). There's a letter you'd better read.

(Smithson reads it.)

Bamford (sullenly; emerging from a silent sulk). I thought it was houses.

Ste. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to cover the Polygon with houses.

Bamford. It was houses. You've altered it. I ought to have been told. No one told me.

Smiths (looking up from the letter). He'll come round.

Ste. Yes.

Bamford (taking it personally; indignantly). Who'll come round? I won't come round. Houses it was and houses it's going to be.

Ste. (moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. Alcorn pockets it. Dryly.) We spoke of Sir Charles.

Bamford. Oh!

Smiths, (tentatively). I fancy, myself, houses would be a safer battle-cry with the people, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Damn the people. Who cares for the people?

Alcorn (rising). I really must protest. Such language! (He seems genuinely shocked.)

Ste. (impatiently). It's so silly to talk as if the people mattered. Government by the people! Any fool can lead 'em where he wants.

Alcorn (sitting). We must consider their feelings a bit. Think of the rates.

Ste. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We must make 'em feel what we want 'em to feel.. Then they'll vote for what we want and kid themselves we do it for their sake. That's how to consider their feelings. When I was a lad there was a trout stream ran through Carrington. It's a sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've caught 'em by tickling their bellies. That's the way to catch voters, Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em.

Alcorn. Yes, but the trout died. The voter lives to vote next time.

Ste. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've never known it fail.

Bamford. You're not attending to me. I say houses. Smithson says houses.

Smiths (in alarm). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I don't. I only say houses 'ull bring votes quicker than playing fields.

Alcorn. I suppose you couldn't shout houses and make it the other thing afterwards?

Smiths. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (Very righteously.) I stand for purity in municipal life.

Bamford. Yes. Always be honest with your electors.

Ste. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent official with a certain job, or he'd know better.

Bamford. If I provide a quarter of the capital, I've a right——

Ste. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we shall do nothing without your approval.

Bamford. Then I approve houses. As a ratepayer—

Ste. (definitely). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on. (Consternation.)

Smiths. (frightened). We can't do without your influence.

Bamford (grudgingly). No, we can't do without Verity.

Ste. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a flea bite. Our profit 'ull cover it a hundred times. I don't deny the town needs houses, needs 'em badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My money's tied up and I'm not touching it. The money I'm putting into this isn't my own.

(Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to Smithson, who reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen.)

Bamford. Who's is it, if it's a fair question? Ste. My daughter's. I'll want it back quick. Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then? Bamford (very interested). Your daughter's? Nice looking girl, your daughter. (Slight pause.)

Well, I'm using my own money and——(Irritably.)

What's that you're passing round? Another secret from me?

Ste. (blandly). No. (Passing him the paper.) Bamford (reading). "Make Bamford Mayor next year." (He looks up at each in turn.) Um. Well. Bamford's willing.

Alcorn. I think it's very suitable.

Ste. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, Mr. Mayor-Elect?

Bamford. I'm not a favourite with the psalmsinging set, you know.

Alcorn. I've got them in my pocket. They'll be squared all right.

Ste. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make a bit on the mayoral allowance, you know. Needn't spend above half of it.

Bamford. All right. No need to say more. It's a recreation ground and damn the expense. (The tension passes.)

Ste. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn? Alcorn. Yes. (Fussily producing and smoothing the typewritten articles of association.)

Ste. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. Bamford (examining the paper). Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo! What's this? Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C.

Alcorn. My brother's office in London. Bamford. Why?

Ste. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. Some busybody 'ud smell it out.

Bamford. I see. (Suspiciously.) What does his brother get out of it?

Alcorn. Nothing; and he's put down three of his clerks for one share apiece to make up the statutory seven shareholders. Those are their signatures above Smithson's and mine.

(Bamford nods.)

Ste. (dipping pen). There's a pen.

(Bamford signs.)

I'll witness. (Calling off l.) Lucy!

Bamford. I deliver this as my act and deed.

(Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. All rise.)

Lucy. Did you call, father?

Alcorn (advancing and speaking with the respect due to a capitalist). Good evening, Miss Verity.

Ste. (stepping back, and interposing impatiently). Oh, never mind all that; sit down, Lucy. (Pushing her into his vacated chair and pointing to the papers, handing pen.) Write your name there.

Lucy (vaguely). My name?

Ste. Yes. Can't you hear? See what it is? Lucy. No.

(Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a butcher appraising a sheep.)

Ste. (impatiently). Oh, never mind. It 'ud take a week to make you understand. You've some money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. (Lucy signs.) Say "I deliver this as my act and deed."

Lucy. I deliver this as my act and deed. (To Stephen.) It's your deed really, you know.

Ste. I'll witness. (Signs.) Right.

Lucy (reading). The Land Development Syndicate, Ltd.

(Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds and hands it to Alcorn.)

Ste. You'll see to that, now?

Alcorn. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. Lucy (standing). But what's it all about?

Smiths. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and ask afterwards.

Bamford. We're buying up the Polygon. Going to make a playing field of it.

(Bamford down r.)

Lucy. And presenting it to the town?

(Stephen alone doesn't look awkward.)

Alcorn. Well——

Ste. (curtly). Yes, it 'ull come to the town.

Lucy (sentimentally). How noble of you!' Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for letting me take a share in this——

Ste. (interrupting). Yes; now you go and have your supper. It's getting late.

(Exit Lucy, l.)

Ste. Well, that concludes the business for tonight, gentlemen. Nothing more to be done till we hear from Sir Charles. (Puts chair back up stage.)

Alcorn. No, that's all.

Ste. (finally). Good night, then.

Alcorn. Good night, Verity. (Crosses r.).

Smiths. Good night. (Shakes hands and crosses R.) . ..

(Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him, pausing and looking back at Bamford.)

Alcorn. Coming, Bamford?

Bamford. No, I want a word with Verity.

Smiths, (suspiciously). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford?

Bamford. Not about the Company. (Glancing involuntarily after Lucy.) Something else.

(Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn.)

Ste. Well, Bamford? Have anything? I've a better port downstairs than the Polygon toffs can run to.

Bamford. No, thanks.

(Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their positions reproduce those of Stephen and Walter at the opening.)

Ste. (taking his pipe from the mantelpiece). I'll have a pipe, if you don't mind. Well, what's up with you?

Bamford (jerking his thumb towards the left door). It's about her.

Ste. Aye? Well, I like a man that comes to the point sharp.

Bamford. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marrying man? (Sitting below fire.)

Ste. You've not done it yet that I know of.

Bamford. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit struck with that daughter of yours, Verity.

Ste. I noticed you were when I mentioned she had money.

Bamford. Well, I'm the last man to deny that money's a very important thing in life.

Ste. It's a useful thing to have about the house.

Bamford. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement.

Ste. It's not impossible..

Bamford. Eh!

Ste. Only she's a bit young.

Bamford. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh? I'm sound and hearty.

Ste. So's t'other fellow, and more her age.

Bamford (rising). The other fellow?'

Ste. (remaining seated). Aye. You thought you were being smart, didn't you? Seeing a good thing and dashing at it prompt; but you're the second man to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that.

Bamford (anxiously). Is she promised?

Ste. No.

Bamford (relieved). Ah!

Ste. The man that weds my daughter takes a tidy bit of money with her.

Bamford. It'll find some more of its own kidney if she brings it to me.

Ste. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck on the idea of losing her at all. But she's got a fancy in her head and it's one I don't cotton to. Best cure might be to put you there instead and be sure of her not making a fool of herself.

Bamford. Then I'm not too late. (Sits again.)

Ste. You're the best man up to now.

Bamford. Well——

Ste. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl can look high. Question is, are you high enough?

Bamford. Which way?

Ste. Money.

Bamford. Depends what you call high.

Ste. Yes... (half apologetically.) I've a right to know before I put it to her.

Bamford (after slight hesitation). Well, I'll tell you this: you know what my father left?

Ste. Yes.

Bamford. There's more to-day. (They exchange looks.)

Ste. (rising with resolution). That 'ull do. (Opens left door.) Lucy, come back a minute.

Bamford (rises in alarm). I'm not what you call a parlour ladies' man.

Ste. I'll stand by you.

(Enter Lucy.)

Now then. (Crosses r.)

Lucy. You want me?

Ste. (indicating Bamford). He does.

Bamford (awkwardly). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. That's just what I do. I want you.

(Lucy is puzzled.)

Ste. (looking at her). Well?

Lucy (turning from one to the other). You want me. I'm here. What do you want me for?

Bamford (l.). For better or for worse. (Giggling genially.)

Lucy (freezing). I don't understand you.

Ste. (roughly). Don't play stupid now. You understand him well enough.

Lucy. But—— (Looking appealingly at Stephen.)

Ste. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your answer to the other fellow.

Lucy. I have given him my answer.

Ste. Well, you can give, Mr.. Bamford his and say yes. He's got money.

Bamford (eagerly). Yes, I've got money and I spend it. I'll give you the time of your life.

Lucy. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bamford. You've made me so happy, so grateful to you all for letting me help in your charity. I only knew to-night how rich I am. It frightened me—the thought of so much money. I was afraid of it... of my unworthiness. Until you showed me the way to use it well. I was proud that I... and now... father, this isn't fair of you.

Ste. What isn't fair?

Lucy. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford? (To Bamford.) I'm engaged.

Ste. (r.c.). Don't lie. You're not.

Lucy (bravely). I choose to consider myself engaged.

Ste. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're rebellious to-night. I'm master here. I'm not the sort of fool to let you twist me round your little finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one and got a thousand a year (the sum moves Bamford visibly) that you'll ride rough-shod over me. (More gently.) You've got to be sensible. (Smacks table.) You've got to do what I tell you.

Bamford. You shall have your carriage and dress yourself as much as you like; and what's more, marry me and you'll be. Mayoress of Carrington in November.

Ste. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast.

Bamford. What's the matter?

Ste. (crossing l.). Engaged, if you like, but no wedding till the Polygon deal's complete. The profits on that are mine.

Bamford. Of course they are. I'll hand over your share when we've sold to the town.

Lucy. Sold! Profit! I thought——

Ste. Never mind what you thought. (Goes up to Lucy.) That wasn't meant for your ears. You'd better go back to the other room now. I'll talk to you after Mr. Bamford's gone. (Indicating her to exit.)

Lucy. I hope. Mr. Bamford will remember I'm engaged.

Ste. He'll remember you're going to be—to him. (Crosses down r. above, table.)

Lucy. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. I'm twenty-one now, and I'm going to take my own way.

Bamford (doubtfully). I don't like the look of this, Verity.

Ste. Look of what?

Bamford. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she?

Lucy. That's nothing to what I can do when I'm roused, Mr. Bamford.

Ste. Pssh! It's the first time she's broken out like this. She'll be tame enough next time you come.

Lucy (viciously). Don't make too sure of that.

Ste. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man can't do as he likes with his own flesh and blood.

Bamford (warily). Best sleep on it before you say more, Verity.

Ste. (going to Lucy): Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and say over to yourself, I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. Then you'll get used to the idea.

Lucy. But I'm not.

Ste. Aren't you? We'll see.

Lucy. Yes, we will. (At exit l.)

CURTAIN.