MR MARCH. Oh! [Quizzically] You've got a disciple, Mr Bly.

BLY. [Rolling his eyes at his daughter] Ah! but you mustn't 'ave
instincts here, you know. You've got a chance, and you must come to
stay, and do yourself credit.

FAITH. [Adapting her face] Yes, I know, I'm very lucky.

MR MARCH. [Deprecating thanks and moral precept] That's all right!
Only, Mr Bly, I can't absolutely answer for Mrs March. She may think--

MARY. There is Mother; I heard the door.

BLY. [Taking up his pail] I quite understand, sir; I've been a married
man myself. It's very queer the way women look at things. I'll take her
away now, and come back presently and do these other winders. You can
talk it over by yourselves. But if you do see your way, sir, I shan't
forget it in an 'urry. To 'ave the responsibility of her--really, it's
dreadful.

FAITH's face has grown sullen during this speech, but it clears up
in another little soft look at MR MARCH, as she and MR BLY go out.

MR MARCH. Well, Mary, have I done it?

MARY. You have, Dad.

MR MARCH. [Running his hands through his hair] Pathetic little figure!
Such infernal inhumanity!