Vining (dictating). "Your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon"—got that, Montgomery?

Montgomery. Yes. (Looking up timidly.) Excuse me, Vining, I can't help saying it again, but are you quite sure we form a quorum?

Vin. (assertively). Of course we do, my dear fellow. Don't distress yourself.

Mont. (desperately). But—but there are five houses in the Polygon and only two are represented here.

Vin. We know the views of the rest.

Mrs. Vin. Their views are ours.

Vin. Quite so. Allow for unavoidable absentees, and your scruples vanish. Shall I proceed?

(Approval from settee. Montgomery bends and writes.)

"Dear Sir,—At an indignation meeting of your tenants in the Polygon——"

(Montgomery writes at intervals, when others talk.)

Mrs. V. Archibald, have we any right to be indignant with Sir Charles?

Vin. We are indignant, aren't we?

Mrs. V. Yes. But will Sir Charles quite like us to tell him so?

Mont, (pathetically). It's deucedly—beg pardon—it's hard to be diplomatic. How would "protest meeting" do?

Vin. Too political. Let "indignation" stand. We must show him he's roused the sleeping lion.

Mont, (acquiescent). I'll underline it if you like.

Vin. No! No! Firmness, my dear Monty, firmness, not ostentation.

Mrs. M. (gushingly to Mrs. Vining). What a man of affairs Mr. Vining is!

Vin. (filling his chest). I flatter myself I put things through, Mrs. Montgomery. Now, Monty!

Mont. (reading). "At the indignation meeting—um—held on the—um—it was resolved to respectfully address——"

Mrs. V. Oh!

Vin. (reprovingly). Well, Cecilia?

Mont, (puzzled). That's in order, I think.

Vin. Quite. Go on.

Mrs. V. But, Archibald, to address a split infinitive to a baronet!

Vin. I stand corrected. Thanks, Cecilia.

Mont. I don't quite see—————

Vin. (moving him to write). It was resolved respectfully to address——

Mont, (correcting and reading). To address a letter to you on the subject of your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon.

Vin. Correct, I think? (Approval from the settee.)

Mont. (proceeding). It is our hope that should this information be correct, bracket, which we hesitate to believe, bracket, you will reconsider your decision to give over to the hands of the jerry builder the only residences in Carrington habitable by persons of refinement.

Vin. Excellent. (Approval from settee. Vining crosses l. to above Montgomery and takes letter; patronisingly.) You write a clerkly hand, Monty. (Picks up pen.) I'll sign as the oldest resident present.

(Montgomery swallows a protest, remaining seated, Vining signs, bending over.)

What a pity Sir Charles is abroad. We shall be kept waiting for his reply.

Mont. You got his address from Dunkerly?

Vin. (putting envelope before him). Yes. Hotel MÉtropole, Monte Carlo.

(Montgomery writes and encloses letter. Vining goes to French window and opens it.)

I'll have this posted at once. (Calls.) Pilling!

(He returns. Montgomery crosses r. and sits above fireplace.)

Mont. Ah, well! That's settled..

Vin. (sitting at desk). Yes.

Mar. (rises). Jolly glad to hear it. I'm fed up. Come out and play tennis, Walter. (Puts chair down c.)

Walter. Not this afternoon, Marjorie.

Mar. Oh, be a sport.

Walter. Some other time.

Mar. It's always some other time with you, now. I'm forgetting what you look like in flannels. You'll lose all your form if you don't practice a bit.

Walter. I'm afraid I must let it go. (Rises and crosses l.)

Mar. It's pure slacking. Don't be so beastly serious, if you are in Orders. Come and be a muscular Christian on the lawn.

Walter. Something more serious to-day, Marjorie. Mar. Oh, rot! What's the good of having the courts if you don't use 'em?

Mont. They certainly might be used more by you young people.

Walter. They might be used by hundreds of people if——

Mar. Oh, blow, you're getting on your hobby horse again. I'm going to practice putting if you won't give me a game. You are a rotter.

(Exit Marjorie c. to l. Pilling appears c. from l. in his shirt-sleeves.)

Vin. (closes desk and crosses up l.c.). Oh, Pilling, just post this letter at once. Are your hands clean?

Pilling (inspecting his very black hands). Not very, sir.

Vin. Go and wash them and come back for it.

Pilling. Yes, sir.

(Pilling vanishes to r. Vining crosses to fire.)

Mrs. M. I can't understand Sir Charles wanting to sell at all.

Mrs. V. No. What would Carrington be without the Polygon?

Walter (quietly). I'm not sure that it wouldn't be a good deal better off, Mrs. Vining.

(They all stare at him astonished.)

Vin. What an extraordinary thing to say. Why, we are Carrington.

Mrs. V. We've always lived in the Polygon. We've taken root, Carrington's gone on its way——

Vin. A precious bad way, too.

Mont. Other times, other manners, Vining.

Vin. Carrington has no manners—but the Polygon has stood aloof. Thank God we leisured people have no connection with the town roughs.

Walter. Then how can you say you are Carrington?

Vin. We are the best people in Carrington, sir. Do you judge a place by its quality or by the counting of heads?

Walter. I wish I could make you see their point of view, Mr. Vining.

Vin. (snorting). Their point of view.

Walter (quietly). They have one, you know. Before that letter goes to Sir Charles, I'd like to try——

Mrs. M. Walter, remember what the Polygon means to all of us.

Walter. It's a survival, mother. It's out of date in the midst of a modern manufacturing town.

Mont, (pathetically). But—but, Walter, it means so tremendously much to us all. It may be out of date, but I did hope it was going to last our time.

Vin. It's got to last our time. (Sincerely.) I'm not a deeply religious man, but I get reverent when I think of the Polygon.

Mrs. M. That's just it. We all love the Polygon.

Mrs. V. The five houses.

Mont. Chatsworth.

Mrs. V. Apsley House.

Mrs. M. Marlborough Lodge.

Vin. Kenilworth and Abbotsford.

Mont. And our gardens.

Vin. And the tennis ground in the middle.

Walter. Which nobody uses except Marjorie.

Mrs. V. Are we to lose it all?

Vin. (with appropriate chest expansion). Not if Archibald Vining can prevent it.

Walter. You make it very hard for me to go on.

Vin. Then don't go on.

Walter. (crosses c.). I must. Father, Mr. Vining, you—all of you—are wrapped up in the Polygon. You hardly go out of it except to the station. "

Mont. There's nothing else in Carrington to go to.

Vin. Thank goodness we've no business to take us into those mean streets.

Walter. You haven't, Mr. Vining, but I have. I see the other side of the picture, if you don't.

Vin. Well, my dear boy, every town has its back stairs.

Walter (sits c.). Carrington's all back stairs, and cramped stairs they are. There's no breathing space. What right have we to monopolize the air? We've room to move about—so much room that you need never go out of the Polygon.

Mont. We pay for the privilege, don't we?

Walter. Yes, you pay for it in money and they pay for the lack of it in health.

Mont. If there's overcrowding it's a matter for the town authorities to deal with.

Walter. They want to deal with it. They want the Polygon.

Vin. They can't have it. They must know it 'ud be cutting off their nose to spite their face. The Polygon's essential to Carrington.

Walter. Why?

Vin. It is Carrington. I tell you this, young man, Carrington's last state would be worse than its first if you took us away. We—we circulate money. We give the place a tone.

Walter. It's a tone the place could do without. It could do without your money. We are not Carrington. The factories are the essential Carrington. Mr. Vining, (rising and taking a step to r. c.) let me show you what it's like—whole families living—no, not living—pigging in a single room. Rooms cut up amongst two or three families. All in Carrington, our neighbours in Christian Carrington.

Vin. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put my head into a noose. I prefer to keep out of infection.

Walter (appealingly). Don't send that letter to Sir Charles. Don't try to influence his decision. The workpeople can't move out of the town. They must live near their work. You can move. Dividends can reach you anywhere just as easily.

Mrs. V. Move of ourselves! Never!

Mrs. M. Walter, you don't understand what you're asking us to do. You're young. You can change easily, because you're young and restless. But when you've lived in a house that's dear to you till it's become part of your life, you can't leave it in your old age.

(Walter crosses above settee.)

Mont. I can't leave my garden. You know that. No other garden would mean the same to me.

Vin. My dear friends, you needn't worry. Carrington would never let us go. Walter's got hold of the wrong end of the stick. We're an institution.

Walter. How do you know? Did you ever ask them what they think of us?

Vin. I'll ask Pilling. You'll see. (Crosses up c.)

Walter. I shouldn't advise you to. I know Pilling's home. He's a wife and child. They all live in one room.

Vin. Why, I pay the man twenty-two shillings a week. What does he live like that for?

Walter. He's no choice. Pilling 'ull tell you what Carrington thinks of the Polygon.

Vin. He's a long time washing his hands. (Goes up to window and looks off r.)

Walter. But you're not going to send that letter now.

Vin. Certainly we are. (Returns r.c.)

Walter. But——

Mont. I think we're all agreed on that?

Vin. Quite. No stone unturned. That fellow who's coming, what's his name—you know, Walter—that alderman——

Walter. Verity?

Vin. Verity. That's it. We must make sure of the town authorities. A little affability goes a long way with people of that sort.

Mrs. V. Yes. He's not the type of man you're accustomed to meet in my drawing-room, Mrs. Montgomery, still——

Mont. It's in a good cause, Mrs. Vining.

Mrs. M. He's an architect, isn't he?

Walter. He's a builder who's his own architect. That's why his houses fall to pieces.

Mrs. M. That's what I say. An architect. Almost a professional man.

Walter. But you mustn't pin your faith on Verity. He's, the last man——

Vin. Walter, as a Churchman, I am always willing to accept your views on religious matters. But when it comes to worldly questions, permit me to have an opinion of my own.

(Pilling appears and knocks on the window without advancing into the room.)

Oh, Pilling!

Pilling (in c.o.). Yes, sir?

Vin. Come in.

(Pilling advances a foot and stands awkwardly near the window.)

Pilling. Letter ready, sir?

Vin. (absently). Yes, yes. (Montgomery rises gets letter from mantel; hands it to Vining.) There you are.

(Up to Pilling, who turns to go.)

One moment, Pilling, I want to ask you something. Can you tell me how people in the town talk of the Polygon?

Pilling. How they talk, sir?

Vin. Yes. What's the general opinion of us? Pilling. It's not for the likes of me to talk against the gentry.

Walter. They do talk against us, then?

Pilling (awkwardly). Well, sir——- (He pauses.)

Walter (helping him out). Tell them how you live, Pilling.

Pilling. You can tell that as well as me.

Vin. (impatiently). Yes, yes, but that's not the point. Doesn't your class feel what a privilege it is to have us living in your midst?

Pilling (earnestly). I'd be badly off without you, sir.

Vin. You'd be sorry to lose us, eh?

Walter. Of course he would. A gardener's no use if there's nothing to garden. Only Carrington's not a garden city. It's a manufacturing town.

Mont. (with back to fire, to Pilling). Supposing now you weren't a gardener?

Vin. Yes. What's the common view of us?

Pilling. Well, sir, it 'ud seem to me against nature if the town had no quality in it.

Vin. (turning triumphantly to Walter). You see? (Patronising Pilling.) You're perfectly right, Pilling. I've noticed it before. (Talking at the ladies.) The masses always have this instinctive clinging to their superiors. They know we're the source of all prosperity.

Pilling (shyly). There's queer talk, sometimes, sir. I know gentlemen are different from us, but there's men in this town wanting to tell me we're all born equal—asking your pardon, sir.

Mrs. V. You know better than that, Pilling.

Pilling. Yes, mum.

Vin. You could never get on without us.

Pilling. No, sir.

Walter. Be honest, man. No one's going to hurt you for it. Tell us the truth, about the overcrowding and the waste of valuable space in the Polygon.

Mrs. V. Yes. Tell us the truth, Pilling, and say you know how necessary we are.

Pilling. You're bread and butter to me, mum, and I know it.

Vin. There you are, Walter.

Walter (impatiently). But he's an exception. He's

Vin. (interrupting). You've got the letter, Pilling.

Pilling. Yes, sir. (Turning, then courageously.) There's no denying as the overcrowding's something cruel. I wouldn't say a word of it, not to you, sir, if I didn't know and see and suffer it.

(Montgomery sits again below fire.)

Vin. That'll do, Pilling.

Pilling. Yes, sir. (Turns to go.)

Walter (to Vining, crossing above sofa c.). You heard that. Won't you wait? Wait till Verity's been. You'll catch the same post.

Vin. (pause). Give me the letter, Pilling, I'll keep it back a little.

Pilling. Yes, sir..

(Exit Pilling, c.)

Walter. Thank you, Mr. Vining.

(Maid announces Mr. Verity. Maid withdraws Stephen is dressed as Act II, and very sure of himself, except at odd moments.)

Vin. (patronisingly). Ah, Mr. Verity. Pleased to see you. (Advancing.)

Ste. (up R. c., shaking hands; very formally). How do you do?

Vin. You know us all, I think?

Ste. (dryly). By sight.

Vin. (hurriedly). Yes. Sit down, won't you? (Sits above fire.)

(Stephen does so, uncomfortably, c. Walter stands R. end of settee.)

Now come to business, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Yes?

Vin. What we want to see you about is this confounded rumour of the Polygon's being up for sale for building lots. No doubt you've heard it?

Ste. I've heard tell of it.

Vin. Have you thought about it at all?

Ste. I've thought a lot.

Mont. Well, what do you think, Mr. Verity? Could anything be more absurd?

Ste. (nodding his head towards Walter). Ask him. He knows what I think.

Walter. Mr. Verity's of my opinion, father. Vin. We don't want your opinion, sir. You're full up with all sorts of idiotic modern sentimentalism about the poor. It all comes of the Church meddling with secular matters instead of minding its own business. Mr. Verity's a man of sense.

Ste. Thank you; but I don't know that I can do anything.

Mrs. M. (sweetly). Oh, but I'm sure you can, Mr. Verity. You've such influence in the town. You're a man of weight.

Ste. If I am, madam, what had the town to do with Sir Charles selling the Polygon?

Mont. How can the town get on without the Polygon?

Mrs. M. I'm sure you, as an architect, Mr. Verity, must feel the importance of preserving such fine examples as these are of old Georgian mansions.

Mrs. V. So many links with the historic past.

Vin. (impatiently). It 'ud be a blue ruin for the town.

Mont. Sheer catastrophe. You're a leading personage here, Mr. Verity—alderman and so on. Of course you have the interest of the town at heart.

Ste. (with faint irony). As much as you have yourselves, I dare say.

Vin. (recovering first from the slight general embarrassment). Er, yes. Now, don't you think a petition from the Town Council to Sir Charles might do the trick? You see, the Polygon's the backbone of the place. I can't for the life of me imagine what Sir Charles is thinking of.

Ste. The price.

Mrs. V. Now, that's ungenerous of you, Mr. Verity. Sir Charles would never be so selfish.

Ste. (stolidly). Think not?

Mrs. V. He wouldn't turn us out for money. (Vining and Montgomery are not so sure.)

Ste. It's hard times for the rich.

Mont. (timidly). Yes, I suppose it is.

Ste. (with aggression). It is. I know. I'm rich.

Vin. (pompously). I agree with you. We people of independent means have been hard hit lately. What with the differential income tax and the super tax, we——

Ste. We all think we'd like to pay the super tax, don't we?

Vin. Er—yes—we can rely on your sending that petition then?

Ste. Can you?

Mont. I thought you said so.

Ste. I don't remember.

Vin. Dash it, Verity, we men of property must hang together. In a little matter of this sort I'm sure you'll come in with us.

Ste. Yes? Well, I'm sorry to disoblige you.

Mrs. M. But surely as an architect——

Ste. (interrupting). Now it's no use of you talking. I've said my say.

Mont. But you must have some reason. This is really most extraordinary.

Ste. Is it? What's extraordinary in a man getting back a bit of his own?

Vin. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity? I'm very sorry. You speak as if you had some grudge against us.

Ste. Grudge? I hate the sight of you if that's your meaning.

Mont, (rising). This is simply staggering. Why, Mr. Verity, we've always been good neighbours, I hope.

Ste. (still sitting). You've kept yourselves to yourselves, if that's what you call being good neighbours. Who've you been good neighbours to? The shopkeepers? You don't deal with them if you can help it. London's your mark when you've money to spend, and that's not every day of the week. How often have you got your hand down for a local charity? Folks get sick and tired of coming to ask. You buttoned up your pockets so tight.

Vin. Other people, at least, don't share your views, sir.

Ste. Ask 'em. (Rising.) You silly little set of genteel paupers, who did you think you were? (Ladies rise.) We weren't good enough for you. You lived in the Polygon; we lived in the town, and you held your noses too high to see us if you met us, which wasn't often, because you stuck inside your private preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar folk outside. We weren't your class. You patronising snobs, do you fancy I can't see through your getting me here and soaping me to send your petition from the town for you? The town can go to blazes for all you care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big gardens.

Vin. (rises and goes up to door R.) Mr. Verity, I'm sorry to have to remind you there are ladies present.

Ste. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you down so easy. I'd let it rip if you'd the courage to turn 'em out and meet me man to man.

Mrs. M. (moving towards door). We'll go.

Mont, (r., timidly). I'd rather you didn't, my dear.

Ste. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a stopper on my tongue.

(Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go.)

Walter (coming to r. of Verity). No, mother. Mr. Verity, don't let us lose our tempers about this. It's too important for petty feelings.

Vin. (indignantly). Petty feelings, indeed!

(The ladies stand by door, irresolute.)

Walter (appealingly). Oh, don't split hairs over words. The town's crying for fresh air and health. The town wants to buy the Polygon.

Mont. The town does?

Walter. Yes, didn't you know?

Vin. (looking at Stephen). So it's the town?

Walter (as Stephen doesn't answer). Yes.

Mrs. M. (up by door, r., dropping to Montgomery by fire). Augustus, don't you think, after all, we ought perhaps to—— (Hesitating.)

Vin. (l. c. fiercely). To what, Mrs. Montgomery?

Mrs. M. Well, I'm sure there's something in what Mr. Verity and Walter say. (Sits in armchair above fire.)

Mont. Come, this is weakness, my dear.

Vin. No compromise, Mrs. Montgomery.

Mrs. M. I shall never feel at ease again when I think of the overcrowding in the town.

Vin. Then don't think of it.

Mrs. M. I can't help thinking of it now.

Mont, (to Walter). Oh, dear, I do wish you'd kept your mouth closed.

Walter. And my eyes closed, and my nose closed, and gone about Carrington without looking at it. No, father, I meant to stir your conscience, and I'm glad I've done it. (Sits.)

Vin. Well, I must admit—hang it, Verity, if people are crowded why don't you build 'em houses? It's your trade.

Ste. No land.

(About here Pilling appears c. with some garden stuff in his hand, and Mrs. Vining exit with him for some consultation.)

Vin. There's land enough outside. Why can't the town expand outwards? To hear you talk about the Polygon the town might have a wall round it.

Mont. Yes, there's lots of moorland about the place.

Ste. Quite so. Lots of moor.

Mont. Well, then!

Ste. Shooting moor. Sir Charles' shooting moor.

Vin. Well, what difference do a few acres more or less make to a shooting moor? Surely he'd rather sell you some of that.

Ste. Think so?

Mont. I'm certain of it.

Ste. (sitting on settee). You're wrong, then. He's holding on for a rise. He's held on to this till the value went up. Land here in the centre's' worth more, than land outside. This is ripe. The other isn't. That's why he'll sell this.

Vin. (r. c.). Well, if that's really so——

Ste. (grimly). It's really so.

Vin. (with-an air of finality). All I can say is I shall most certainly have to revise my opinion of Sir Charles. (Crosses down L.)

(Pilling is visible through the window working a mowing machine in the garden; he passes and repasses at intervals.)

Ste. Did you think your tin pot rents paid Sir Charles to let land like this lie idle?

Mont. He likes to have us here. We're desirable tenants.

Ste. Pardon me. As a property owner I know. Desirable tenants are paying tenants.

Vin. Do you insinuate that we don't pay?

Ste. You don't pay a profitable price. He can make a little gold, mine of the Polygon. Land values in the town have been going up all the time. He's cute enough to know it, or his agent is. The only question is, will our price tempt him or is he able to be greedy and wait a bit longer till the land's worth more.

Mont. And you mean to tell me we've been living on the edge of a volcano all these years?

Ste. You've been living in Sir Charles' almshouses for decayed gentlefolk. That's our name for it in the town.

Vin. Sir!

Ste. (calmly). It's the truth. What did it matter to him how little he got out of you meantime? He knew very well it's a fortune waiting for him whenever he wants it.

Mont. I'd no idea of this. (Sits below fire.)

Ste. You know now. If you hadn't been so busy with thinking what nice people you were and what nasty brutes lived outside you'd have found it out for yourselves. Not one of you's on lease. You can all be turned out at six months' notice.

Vin. We trusted to Sir Charles' sense of honour.

Ste. I wouldn't trust him with sixpence, and I'm a sound Tory at that.

Vin. I still think you're wrong, sir. You've given us your view. We're much obliged. (Sits l.)

Ste. (sneering). You'd be more obliged if I'd given you your petition.

Vin. Your view was unexpected.

Ste. Was it? (Turning to Walter.) I thought he'd told you.

Vin. Unexpectedly strong.

Ste. You've not heard the half of it. You've been the bane of the town. It's a working town and it does the working man no good to have the sight of a lot of idle people living well and doing nothing for it. Breeds discontent. Makes him ask questions. That's what you've been to us. A public nuisance. Easy game for every agitator to have his shy at. Do you think we employers loved you? They didn't mind us. They could see we worked for our living. But you set of do-nothing wastrels——

Walter (c.). Mr. Verity! (Vining rises and goes up to back, returns, then round to R. c.)

Ste. What's to do? You've been saying the same to them yourself, haven't you?

Walter. I did my best to gild the pill.

Ste. Well, I'm not a parson. I haven't the gift of using big words for little 'uns and talking sweetly about Hell.

Vin. (dropping r. of Walter to below him). Well, now look here, Mr. Verity, you needn't suppose that I'm influenced in the slightest by your extremely forcible language, but a possible compromise occurs to me.

Ste. Does it? I thought I heard you say just now "no compromise."

Vin. (r. c.). This is a compromise of my own suggesting, sir.

Ste. I'm not the compromising sort. Still, go ahead. What's your idea?

Vin. It's this, sir. I grant you we're drones, and I can see there's something in what you say about the sight of a few idle people taking a lot of room, though I take exception to the way you put it.

Ste. (drily). Aye.

Vin. (r. c.). Now we've an affection for these houses of ours.

Ste. Of Sir Charles'.

Vin. Yes, of Sir Charles'. We're attached to the bricks and mortar. You can understand it.

Ste. I never thought you'd shift willing.

Vin. Just so. We're not willing to shift. But my idea is this. We're all old people, and our families have married off. There's no young blood in the Polygon, except Walter here and my daughter, to use those tennis courts and croquet lawns of ours. They're pleasant to walk about in and it's a real sacrifice to part with them. But I propose writing to Sir Charles suggesting that if (crossing to l. c. and back; returns to l. for end of speech) he cares to sell you some building land outside the town we will sacrifice our lawns for a park if he will leave our bricks and mortar standing till—till we old fogies have done with them. How does that strike you, Mr. Verity?

Ste. It strikes me your motto will do for me as Well as for you.

Vin. My motto?

Ste. No compromise, Mr. Vining.

Walter. Mr. Verity, surely it's a fair offer. It's generous. It's——

Ste. Indeed! If that's your notion of generosity——

Vin. It's my last word.

Ste. (rises). Then I need stay no longer. (Moves towards door.)

Walter (rises). Oh, but——

(Maid announces, "Miss Verity." Enter Lucy. Exit Maid.)

Ste. You! What are you doing here?

Lucy (crosses up r. c.). I came to see Walter.

Ste. But—I locked you up.

Lucy. As you see, I've escaped.

Walter. Locked you up!

Lucy. Oh, yes. Father does things like that.

Ste. Come home, girl.

Lucy. Not yet. I'm a rebel to-day. You locked me up because I refused to marry Mr. Bamford——

Walter. What!

Lucy. And I've escaped to tell the truth about you and——

Ste. Hold your tongue.

Lucy. No. I'm going to tell Walter all I know.

Ste. (sneering). He's welcome to all you know.

Lucy. He's welcome to all I know and all I am.

Mrs. M. Walter, what does this mean? (Rises.)

Vin. I have never heard a more immodest speech.

Walter. Miss Verity and I are engaged.

Ste. You're not. You agreed last night that you weren't.

Lucy. That was before you had thrown me at Bamford's head. I'm engaged to Walter, and I've things to tell him, things I've discovered about——

Ste. Be quiet, will you.

Lucy. No. This is no time for concealment. We've got beyond all that.

Ste. You've nothing to conceal.

Lucy. Then why do you try to stop my mouth?

Ste. I don't. I'm here on business. I've no time for girls' foolishness. Vining, can we go somewhere to draft that letter? (Crosses down to Vining.)

Vin. Letter? What letter?

Ste. The compromise.

Vin. I thought you said—— (Crossing slowly.)

Ste. Never mind what I said. Shall we go? Lucy. Yes, go, while I tell Walter all I know. Ste. Tell him what you like now.

(Exit Stephen with Vining.)

CURTAIN.