MRS MARCH. [Crossing to the bell, and ringing] You'll just send for Mr
Bly and get rid of her again.

MR MARCH. Joan, if we comfortable people can't put ourselves a little
out of the way to give a helping hand--

MRS MARCH. To girls who smother their babies?

MR MARCH. Joan, I revolt. I won't be a hypocrite and a Pharisee.

MRS MARCH. Well, for goodness sake let me be one.

MARY. [As the door opens]. Here's Cook!

COOK stands--sixty, stout, and comfortable with a crumpled smile.

COOK. Did you ring, ma'am?

MR MARCH. We're in a moral difficulty, Cook, so naturally we come to
you.

COOK beams.

MRS MARCH. [Impatiently] Nothing of the sort, Cook; it's a question of
common sense.

COOK. Yes, ma'am.

MRS MARCH. That girl, Faith Bly, wants to come here as parlour-maid.
Absurd!

MARCH. You know her story, Cook? I want to give the poor girl a chance.
Mrs March thinks it's taking chances. What do you say?

COCK. Of course, it is a risk, sir; but there! you've got to take 'em
to get maids nowadays. If it isn't in the past, it's in the future. I
daresay I could learn 'er.

MRS MARCH. It's not her work, Cook, it's her instincts. A girl who
smothered a baby that she oughtn't to have had--

MR MARCH. [Remonstrant] If she hadn't had it how could she have
smothered it?

COOK. [Soothingly] Perhaps she's repented, ma'am.

MRS MARCH. Of course she's repented. But did you ever know repentance
change anybody, Cook?

COOK. [Smiling] Well, generally it's a way of gettin' ready for the
next.

MRS MARCH. Exactly.

MR MARCH. If we never get another chance because we repent--

COOK. I always think of Master Johnny, ma'am, and my jam; he used to
repent so beautiful, dear little feller--such a conscience! I never
could bear to lock it away.

MRS MARCH. Cook, you're wandering. I'm surprised at your encouraging
the idea; I really am.

Cook plaits her hands.

MR MARCH. Cook's been in the family longer than I have--haven't you,
Cook? [COOK beams] She knows much more about a girl like that than we
do.

COOK. We had a girl like her, I remember, in your dear mother's time,
Mr Geoffrey.

MR MARCH. How did she turn out?

COOK. Oh! She didn't.

MRS MARCH. There!

MR MARCH. Well, I can't bear behaving like everybody else. Don't you
think we might give her a chance, Cook?

COOK. My 'eart says yes, ma'am.

MR MARCH. Ha!

COOK. And my 'ead says