MARY. [In a low voice] Well?
MR MARCH. Mr Bly is like all the greater men I know—he can't listen.
MARY. But you were shaking—
MR MARCH. Yes; it's a weakness we have—every three minutes.
MARY. [Bubbling] Dad—Silly!
MR MARCH. Very!
As they go out MR BLY pauses in his labours to catch, as it were, a philosophical reflection. He resumes the wiping of a pane, while quietly, behind him, FAITH comes in with a tray. She is dressed now in lilac-coloured linen, without a cap, and looks prettier than ever. She puts the tray down on the sideboard with a clap that attracts her father's attention, and stands contemplating the debris on the table.
BLY. Winders! There they are! Clean, dirty! All sorts—All round yer!
Winders!
FAITH. [With disgust] Food!
BLY. Ah! Food and winders! That's life!