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 It's out of date in the midst of a modern manufacturing town.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 It may be out of date, but I did hope it was going to last our time.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.