Ste. Women are fools over money. I did think you'd more sense. (Dogmatically.) Money should, marry money. (With rising irritation.) It's all my eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless curate.
Lucy (rises). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I hope we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you—oh, I'm sorry.
Ste. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions for you if you've none for yourself. (R.d.) When you marry there's two things for it—money or birth—and you'll not find either in Polygon. They're a bad imitation of the real thing—about as near as the shoddy Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a handle to his name. (Crosses to Lucy.) If you must get married, I'll find you a husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to leave your old dad if you are a free woman.
Lucy (quietly). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're not in any hurry.
Ste. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win.
Lucy. You've already given a conditional consent.
Ste. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set quiet till I've put the business through.
(Puts ink on table from sideboard.)
Lucy. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you don't mean that!
Ste. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money.