MR MARCH. As you say, something—Ah! Mr Bly!
MR BLY, in precisely the same case as a fortnight ago, with his pail
and cloths, is coming in.
BLY. Afternoon, sir! Shall I be disturbing you if I do the winders here?
MR MARCH. Not at all.
MR BLY crosses to the windows.
MARY. [Pointing to MR BLY's back] Try!
BLY. Showery, sir.
MR MARCH. Ah!
BLY. Very tryin' for winders. [Resting] My daughter givin' satisfaction, I hope?
MR MARCH. [With difficulty] Er—in her work, I believe, coming on well. But the question is, Mr Bly, do—er—any of us ever really give satisfaction except to ourselves?