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?