have to introduce you again?

UNDERSHAFT. My religion? Well, my dear, I am a Millionaire. That
is my religion.

BARBARA. Then I'm afraid you and Mr Shirley wont be able to
comfort one another after all. You're not a Millionaire, are you,
Peter?

SHIRLEY. No; and proud of it.

UNDERSHAFT [gravely] Poverty, my friend, is not a thing to be
proud of.

SHIRLEY [angrily] Who made your millions for you? Me and my like.
What's kep us poor? Keepin you rich. I wouldn't have your
conscience, not for all your income.

UNDERSHAFT. I wouldn't have your income, not for all your
conscience, Mr Shirley. [He goes to the penthouse and sits down
on a form].

BARBARA [stopping Shirley adroitly as he is about to retort] You
wouldn't think he was my father, would you, Peter? Will you go
into the shelter and lend the lasses a hand for a while: we're
worked off our feet.

SHIRLEY [bitterly] Yes: I'm in their debt for a meal, ain't I?

BARBARA. Oh, not because you're in their debt; but for love of
them, Peter, for love of them. [He cannot understand, and is
rather scandalized]. There! Don't stare at me. In with you; and
give that conscience of yours a holiday [bustling him into the
shelter].

SHIRLEY [as he goes in] Ah! it's a pity you never was trained to
use your reason, miss. You'd have been a very taking lecturer on
Secularism.

Barbara turns to her father.

UNDERSHAFT. Never mind me, my dear. Go about your work; and let
me watch it for a while.

BARBARA. All right.

UNDERSHAFT. For instance, what's the matter with that out-patient
over there?

BARBARA [looking at Bill, whose attitude has never changed, and
whose expression of brooding wrath has deepened] Oh, we shall
cure him in no time. Just watch. [She goes over to Bill and
waits. He glances up at her and casts his eyes down again,
uneasy, but grimmer than ever]. It would be nice to just stamp on
Mog Habbijam's face, wouldn't it, Bill?

BILL [starting up from the trough in consternation] It's a lie: I
never said so. [She shakes her head]. Who told you wot was in my
mind?

BARBARA. Only your new friend.

BILL. Wot new friend?

BARBARA. The devil, Bill. When he gets round people they get
miserable, just like you.

HILL [with a heartbreaking attempt at devil-may-care
cheerfulness] I ain't miserable. [He sits down again, and
stretches his legs in an attempt to seem indifferent].

BARBARA. Well, if you're happy, why don't you look happy, as we
do?

BILL [hi