Al. I'm coming your way.
Smiths. Come along then. (Crosses r.)
Al. Good night.
(Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r.)
Bam. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private.
Ste. About her?
Bam. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the curate's mouth.
Ste. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a year, you know.
Lucy. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford.
Bam. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my last word, Verity.