Ste. Is it? What's extraordinary in a man getting back a bit of his own?
Vin. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity? I'm very sorry. You speak as if you had some grudge against us.
Ste. Grudge? I hate the sight of you if that's your meaning.
Mont, (_rising_). This is simply staggering. Why, Mr. Verity, we've always been good neighbours, I hope.
Ste. (_still sitting_). You've kept yourselves to yourselves, if that's what you call being good neighbours. Who've you been good neighbours to? The shopkeepers? You don't deal with them if you can help it. London's your mark when you've money to spend, and that's not every day of the week. How often have you got your hand down for a local charity? Folks get sick and tired of coming to ask. You buttoned up your pockets so tight.
Vin. Other people, at least, don't share your views, sir.
Ste. Ask 'em. (_Rising._) You silly little set of genteel paupers, who did you think you were? (_Ladies rise._) We weren't good enough for you. You lived in the Polygon; we lived in the town, and you held your noses too high to see us if you met us, which wasn't often, because you stuck inside your private preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar folk outside. We weren't your class. You patronising snobs, do you fancy I can't see through your getting me here and soaping me to send your petition from the town for you? The town can go to blazes for all you care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big gardens.
Vin. (_rises and goes up to door R._) Mr. Verity, I'm sorry to have to remind you there are ladies present.
Ste. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you down so easy. I'd let it rip if you'd the courage to turn 'em out and meet me man to man.
Mrs. M. (_moving towards door_). We'll go.
Mont, (_r., timidly_). I'd rather you didn't, my dear.
Ste. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a stopper on my tongue.
(_Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go._)
Walter (_coming to r. of Verity_). No, mother. Mr. Verity, don't let us lose our tempers about this. It's too important for petty feelings.
Vin. (_indignantly_). Petty feelings, indeed!
(_The ladies stand by door, irresolute._)
Walter (_appealingly_). Oh, don't split hairs over words. The town's crying for fresh air and health. The town wants to buy the Polygon.