ith a tray. She is dressed now
in lilac-coloured linen, without a cap, and looks prettier than
ever. She puts the tray down on the sideboard with a clap that
attracts her father's attention, and stands contemplating the debris
on the table.

BLY. Winders! There they are! Clean, dirty! All sorts--All round yer!
Winders!

FAITH. [With disgust] Food!

BLY. Ah! Food and winders! That's life!

FAITH. Eight times a day four times for them and four times for us.
I hate food!

She puts a chocolate into her mouth.

BLY. 'Ave some philosophy. I might just as well hate me winders.

FAITH. Well!

She begins to clear.

BLY. [Regarding her] Look 'ere, my girl! Don't you forget that there
ain't many winders in London out o' which they look as philosophical as
these here. Beggars can't be choosers.

FAITH. [Sullenly] Oh! Don't go on at me!

BLY. They spoiled your disposition in that place, I'm afraid.

FAITH. Try it, and see what they do with yours.

BLY. Well, I may come to it yet.

FAITH. You'll get no windows to look out of there; a little bit of a
thing with bars to it, and lucky if it's not thick glass. [Standing
still and gazing past MR BLY] No sun, no trees, no faces--people don't
pass in the sky, not even angels.

BLY. Ah! But you shouldn't brood over it. I knew a man in Valpiraso
that 'ad spent 'arf 'is life in prison-a jolly feller; I forget what
'e'd done, somethin' bloody. I want to see you like him. Aren't you
happy here?

FAITH. It's right enough, so long as I get out.

BLY. This Mr March--he's like all these novel-writers--thinks 'e knows
'uman nature, but of course 'e don't. Still, I can talk to 'im--got an
open mind, and hates the Gover'ment. That's the two great things. Mrs
March, so far as I see, 'as got her head screwed on much tighter.

FAITH. She has.

BLY. What's the young man like? He's a long feller.

FAITH. Johnny? [With a shrug and a little smile] Johnny.

BLY. Well, that gives a very good idea of him. They say 'es a poet;
does 'e leave 'em about?

FAITH. I've seen one or two.

BLY. What's their tone?

FAITH. All about the condition of the world; and the moon.

BLY. Ah! Depressin'. And the young lady?

FAITH shrugs her shoulders.

Um--'ts what I thought. She 'asn't moved much with the times. She
thinks she 'as, but she 'asn't. Well, they seem a pleasant family.
Leave you to yourself.