ould 'a felt like I did over her bein' in
prison. Seemed a crool senseless thing--that pretty girl o' mine. All
over a baby that hadn't got used to bein' alive. Tain't as if she'd
been follerin' her instincts; why, she missed that baby something crool.

MR MARCH. Of course, human life--even an infant's----

BLY. I know you've got to 'ave a close time for it. But when you come
to think how they take 'uman life in Injia and Ireland, and all those
other places, it seems 'ard to come down like a cartload o' bricks on a
bit of a girl that's been carried away by a moment's abiration.

MR MARCH. [Who is reading the cuttings] H'm! What hypocrites we are!

BLY. Ah! And 'oo can tell 'oo's the father? She never give us his
name. I think the better of 'er for that.

MR MARCH. Shake hands, Mr Bly. So do I. [BLY wipes his hand, and MR
MARCH shakes it] Loyalty's loyalty--especially when we men benefit by
it.

BLY. That's right, sir.

MARY has returned with FAITH BLY, who stands demure and pretty on
the far side of the table, her face an embodiment of the pathetic
watchful prison faculty of adapting itself to whatever may be best
for its owner at the moment. At this moment it is obviously best
for her to look at the ground, and yet to take in the faces of MR
MARCH and MARY without their taking her face in. A moment, for all,
of considerable embarrassment.

MR MARCH. [Suddenly] We'll, here we are!

The remark attracts FAITH; she raises her eyes to his softly with a
little smile, and drops them again.

So you want to be our parlour-maid?

FAITH. Yes, please.

MR MARCH. Well, Faith can remove mountains; but--er--I don't know if she
can clear tables.

BLY. I've been tellin' Mr March and the young lady what you're capable
of. Show 'em what you can do with a plate.

FAITH takes the tray from the sideboard and begins to clear the
table, mainly by the light of nature. After a glance, MR MARCH
looks out of the window and drums his fingers on the uncleaned pane.
MR BLY goes on with his cleaning. MARY, after watching from the
hearth, goes up and touches her father's arm.

MARY. [Between him and MR BLY who is bending over his bucket, softly]
You're not watching, Dad.

MR MARCH. It's too pointed.

MARY. We've got to satisfy mother.

MR MARCH. I can satisfy her better if I don't look.

MARY. You're right.

FAITH has pa