MARY. Gone to Mrs Hunt's. Suppose she's engaged one, Dad?

MR MARCH. Well, it's only a month's wages.

MARY. [Softly] She won't like it.

MR MARCH. Well, let's see her, Mr Bly; let's see her, if you don't mind.

BLY. Oh, I don't mind, sir, and she won't neither; she's used to bein'
inspected by now. Why! she 'ad her bumps gone over just before she came
out!

MR MARCH. [Touched on the raw again] H'm! Too bad! Mary, go and fetch
her.

MARY, with a doubting smile, goes out. [Rising] You might give me
the details of that trial, Mr Bly. I'll see if I can't write
something that'll make people sit up. That's the way to send Youth
to hell! How can a child who's had a rope round her neck--!

BLY. [Who has been fumbling in his pocket, produces some yellow
paper-cuttings clipped together] Here's her references--the whole
literature of the case. And here's a letter from the chaplain in one of
the prisons sayin' she took a lot of interest in him; a nice young man,
I believe. [He suddenly brushes a tear out of his eye with the back of
his hand] I never thought I could '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 tak