Contemptuously] Chivalry! Pouf! Chivalry was "off" even before
the war, Johnny. Who wants chivalry?

JOHNNY. Of all shallow-pated humbug--that sneering at chivalry's the
worst. Civilisation--such as we've got--is built on it.

MARY. [Airily] Then it's built on sand. [She sits beside him on the
fender.]

JOHNNY. Sneering and smartness! Pah!

MARY. [Roused] I'll tell you what, Johnny, it's mucking about with
chivalry that makes your poetry rotten. [JOHNNY seizes her arm and
twists it] Shut up--that hurts. [JOHNNY twists it more] You brute!
[JOHNNY lets her arm go.]

JOHNNY. Ha! So you don't mind taking advantage of the fact that you can
cheek me with impunity, because you're weaker. You've given the whole
show away, Mary. Abolish chivalry and I'll make you sit up.

MRS MARCH. What are you two quarrelling about? Will you bring home
cigarettes, Johnny--not Bogdogunov's Mamelukes--something more
Anglo-American.

JOHNNY. All right! D'you want any more illustrations, Mary?

MARY. Pig! [She has risen and stands rubbing her arm and recovering her
placidity, which is considerable.]

MRS MARCH. Geof, can you eat preserved peaches?

MR MARCH. Hell! What a policy! Um?

MRS MARCH. Can you eat preserved peaches?

MR MARCH. Yes. [To his paper] Making the country stink in the eyes of
the world!

MARY. Nostrils, Dad, nostrils.

MR MARCH wriggles, half hearing.

JOHNNY. [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 yo