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. ACT III _Archibald Vining's house in the Polygon the following afternoon. The room is large and lofty with the air of serene mellowness common to old houses. The door is r., behind the large mantelpiece. Behind is a French window, beyond which the-garden is seen. The room is panelled; its incidental trappings suggest occupants hardly able to live up to their surroundings; the furniture is faded; the carpet worn. Walter sits on a chair to the r. of the window against the wall. Down l. is his father Augustus Montgomery at an escritoire. On a large settee placed crosswise l. sit Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Vining. Archibald Vining is posed with an elbow on the mantelpiece, looking across at Montgomery. The ladies gaze at him with admiration. Montgomery Senior is sixty, rather bald, weak-faced, futile, dressed in light grey morning coat and trousers. Vining is ruddy, irascible, with white moustache and grey hair, in black morning coat and grey trousers. The women are both rather foolish. Mrs. Montgomery is stout and Mrs. Vining lean, but there is otherwise not much to choose between them in age, which is about fifty, or anything else. Their dress is conventional without being fashionable or expensive. They live next door and Mrs. Montgomery has come in without a hat. The light is of a sunny afternoon and there is no fire. Marjorie Vining, a tall athletic girl, sits by the window c., with a tennis racket, looking, increasingly bored._ [Illustration: 0093] 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.