Dor. Make it a ten minutes' sermon, sir, weather's extr'ordinary hot.
Pil. I beg, Captain Dorvaston, you will spare me any such irreverent suggestions; and I trust that if you must sleep in a sacred edifice, you will render your slumber less aggressive. (moves to French window)
Lucy. You do snore, Jack—you nearly drowned the second lesson last Sunday.
Pil. (turning to Lucy) You are not blameless. As his future wife, it is your duty—and—er—privilege—to nudge him. For what purpose has Heaven given you elbows? (he goes into house. Slight pause. Dorvaston puts pipe away. Lucy crosses up, turns to chair R.)
Lucy. Jack!
Dor. Yes, little woman?
Lucy. Do you care for me?
Dor. 'Course I do!
Lucy. How much? (crosses to chair and kneels on it)