ARY. How many days are you going to let him sit up there, Mother?

MR MARCH. [Glancing at MRS MARCH] I never in my life knew anything so
ridiculous.

MRS MARCH. Give me a little glass of brandy, Geof.

MR MARCH. Good! That's the first step towards seeing reason.

He pours brandy into a liqueur glass from the decanter which stands
between them. MRS MARCH puts the brandy to her lips and makes a
little face, then swallows it down manfully. MARY gets up with the
walnuts and goes. Silence. Gloom.

MRS MARCH. Horrid stuff!

MR MARCH. Haven't you begun to see that your policy's hopeless, Joan?
Come! Tell the girl she can stay. If we make Johnny feel victorious--we
can deal with him. It's just personal pride--the curse of this world.
Both you and Johnny are as stubborn as mules.

MRS MARCH. Human nature is stubborn, Geof. That's what you easy--going
people never see.

MR MARCH gets up, vexed, and goes to the fireplace.

MR MARCH. [Turning] Well! This goes further than you think. It
involves Johnny's affection and respect for you.

MRS MARCH nervously refills the little brandy glass, and again
empties it, with a grimacing shudder.

MR MARCH. [Noticing] That's better! You'll begin to see things
presently.

MARY re-enters.

MARY. He's been digging himself in. He's put a screen across the head
of the stairs, and got Cook's blankets. He's going to sleep there.

MRS MARCH. Did he take the walnuts?

MARY. No; he passed them in to her. He says he's on hunger strike. But
he's eaten all the chocolate and smoked himself sick. He's having the
time of his life, mother.

MR MARCH. There you are!

MRS MARCH. Wait till this time to-morrow.

MARY. Cook's been up again. He wouldn't let her pass. She'll have to
sleep in the spare room.

MR MARCH. I say!

MARY. And he's got the books out of her room.

MRS MARCH. D'you know what they are? "The Scarlet Pimpernel,"
"The Wide Wide World," and the Bible.

MARY. Johnny likes romance.

She crosses to the fire.

MR MARCH. [In a low voice] Are you going to leave him up there with the
girl and that inflammatory literature, all night? Where's your common
sense, Joan?

MRS MARCH starts up, presses her hand over her brow, and sits down
again. She is stumped.

[With consideration for her defeat] Have another tot! [He pours it out]
Let Mary go up with a flag of truce, and ask t