SHIRLEY [angrily] Who made your millions for you? Me and my like. What's kep us poor? Keepin you rich. I wouldn't have your conscience, not for all your income. UNDERSHAFT. I wouldn't have your income, not for all your conscience, Mr Shirley. [He goes to the penthouse and sits down on a form]. BARBARA [stopping Shirley adroitly as he is about to retort] You wouldn't think he was my father, would you, Peter? Will you go into the shelter and lend the lasses a hand for a while: we're worked off our feet. SHIRLEY [bitterly] Yes: I'm in their debt for a meal, ain't I? BARBARA. Oh, not because you're in their debt; but for love of them, Peter, for love of them. [He cannot understand, and is rather scandalized]. There! Don't stare at me. In with you; and give that conscience of yours a holiday [bustling him into the shelter]. SHIRLEY [as he goes in] Ah! it's a pity you never was trained to use your reason, miss. You'd have been a very taking lecturer on Secularism. Barbara turns to her father. UNDERSHAFT. Never mind me, my dear. Go about your work; and let me watch it for a while. BARBARA. All right. UNDERSHAFT. For instance, what's the matter with that out-patient over there? BARBARA [looking at Bill, whose attitude has never changed, and whose expression of brooding wrath has deepened] Oh, we shall cure him in no time. Just watch. [She goes over to Bill and waits. He glances up at her and casts his eyes down again, uneasy, but grimmer than ever]. It would be nice to just stamp on Mog Habbijam's face, wouldn't it, Bill? BILL [starting up from the trough in consternation] It's a lie: I never said so. [She shakes her head]. Who told you wot was in my mind? BARBARA. Only your new friend. BILL. Wot new friend? BARBARA. The devil, Bill. When he gets round people they get miserable, just like you. HILL [with a heartbreaking attempt at devil-may-care cheerfulness] I ain't miserable. [He sits down again, and stretches his legs in an attempt to seem indifferent]. BARBARA. Well, if you're happy, why don't you look happy, as we do? BILL [his legs curling back in spite of him] I'm appy enough, I tell you. Why don't you lea me alown? Wot av I done to you? I ain't smashed your face, av I? BARBARA [softly: wooing his soul] It's not me that's getting at you, Bill. BILL. Who else is it? BARBARA. Somebody that doesn't intend you to smash women's faces, I suppose. Somebody or something that wants to make a man of you. BILL [blustering] Make a man o ME! Ain't I a man? eh? ain't I a man? Who sez I'm not a man? BARBARA. There's a man in you somewhere, I suppose. But why did he let you hit poor little Jenny Hill? That wasn't very manly of him, was it? BILL [tormented] Av done with it, I tell you. Chock it. I'm sick of your Jenny Ill and er silly little face. BARBARA. Then why do you keep thinking about it? Why does it keep coming up against you in your mind? You're not getting converted, are you?