MRS MARCH. [Suddenly, in an unruffled voice] I have made your cheque out for four pounds. It's rather more than the fortnight, and a month's notice. There'll be a cab for you in an hour's time. Can you be ready by then?
FAITH. [Astonished] What for—ma'am?
MRS MARCH. You don't suit.
FAITH. Why?
MRS MARCH. Do you wish for the reason?
FAITH. [Breathless] Yes.
MRS MARCH. Cook saw you just now.
FAITH. [Blankly] Oh! I didn't mean her to.
MRS MARCH. Obviously.