MRS MARCH. [With embarrassment] I'm very sorry, Mr Bly, but circumstances over which I have no control—
BLY. [With deprecation] Ah! we all has them. The winders ought to be done once a week now the Spring's on 'em.
MRS MARCH. No, no; it's your daughter—
BLY. [Deeply] Not been given' way to'er instincts, I do trust.
MRS MARCH. Yes. I've just had to say good-bye to her.
BLY. [Very blank] Nothing to do with property, I hope?
MRS MARCH. No, no! Giddiness with my son. It's impossible; she really must learn.
BLY. Oh! but 'oo's to learn 'er? Couldn't you learn your son instead?
MRS MARCH. No. My son is very high-minded.
BLY. [Dubiously] I see. How am I goin' to get over this? Shall I tell you what I think, ma'am?