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.