Walter. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education.
Ste. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you to-day. I had no education and I'm worth—well, never mind. Lucy, tell him what I've been telling you to-night.
Lucy. What you told me?
Ste. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of talking now.
Lucy. But——
Ste. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it?
Lucy (as if repeating a lesson). You told me that mother left me money which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of yielding £1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the money lies to my credit at the bank.
Ste. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say to that?
Walter. Of course I didn't know.
Ste. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion. You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond as you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't spend as fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got.