BLY. Not much, sir.

MR MARCH. Ah! [He looks up at MR BLY, struck by his large philosophical
eyes and moth-eaten moustache] Nor I.

BLY. I rather thought that, sir, from your writin's.

MR MARCH. Oh! Do you read?

BLY. I was at sea, once--formed the 'abit.

MR MARCH. Read any of my novels?

BLY. Not to say all through--I've read some of your articles in the
Sunday papers, though. Make you think!

MR MARCH. I'm at sea now--don't see dry land anywhere, Mr Bly.

BLY. [With a smile] That's right.

MR MARCH. D'you find that the general impression?

BLY. No. People don't think. You 'ave to 'ave some cause for thought.

MR MARCH. Cause enough in the papers.

BLY. It's nearer 'ome with me. I've often thought I'd like a talk with
you, sir. But I'm keepin' you. [He prepares to swab the pane.]

MR MARCH. Not at all. I enjoy it. Anything to put off work.