Bam. Can I smoke there?
Ste. (r. c.). Aye.
(Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c, above table, Stephen r. of table.)
Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to play on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you have.
Walter. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir.
Ste. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you know.
Walter. How do you know I want to marry her?
Lucy. Walter!
Ste. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night.
(Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire.)