Muttering] Shallow idiots! Thinking we can do without
chivalry!

MRS MARCH. I'm doing my best to get a parlourmaid, to-day, Mary, but
these breakfast things won't clear themselves.

MARY. I'll clear them, Mother.

MRS MARCH. Good! [She gets up. At the door] Knitting silk.

She goes out.

JOHNNY. Mother hasn't an ounce of idealism. You might make her see
stars, but never in the singular.

MR MARCH. [To his paper] If God doesn't open the earth soon--

MARY. Is there anything special, Dad?

MR MARCH. This sulphurous government. [He drops the paper] Give me a
match, Mary.

As soon as the paper is out of his hands he becomes a different--an
affable man.

MARY. [Giving him a match] D'you mind writing in here this morning,
Dad? Your study hasn't been done. There's nobody but Cook.

MR MARCH. [Lighting his pipe] Anywhere.

He slews the armchair towards the fire.

MARY. I'll get your things, then.

She goes out.

JOHNNY. [Still on the fender] What do you say, Dad? Is civilisation
built on chivalry or on self-interest?

MR MARCH. The question is considerable, Johnny. I should say it was
built on contract, and jerry-built at that.

JOHNNY. Yes; but why do we keep contracts when we can break them with
advantage and impunity?

MR MARCH. But do we keep them?

JOHNNY. Well--say we do; otherwise you'll admit there isn't such a thing
as civilisation at all. But why do we keep them? For instance, why
don't we make Mary and Mother work for us like Kafir women? We could
lick them into it. Why did we give women the vote? Why free slaves;
why anything decent for the little and weak?

MR MARCH. Well, you might say it was convenient for people living in
communities.

JOHNNY. I don't think it's convenient at all. I should like to make
Mary sweat. Why not jungle law, if there's nothing in chivalry.

MR MARCH. Chivalry is altruism, Johnny. Of course it's quite a question
whether altruism isn't enlightened self-interest!

JOHNNY. Oh! Damn!

The lank and shirt-sleeved figure of MR BLY, with a pail of water
and cloths, has entered, and stands near the window, Left.

BLY. Beg pardon, Mr March; d'you mind me cleanin' the winders here?

MR MARCH. Not a bit.

JOHNNY. Bankrupt of ideals. That's it!

MR BLY stares at him, and puts his pail down by the window.

MARY has entered with her father's writing materials which she puts