FAITH. You'll get no windows to look out of there; a little bit of a thing with bars to it, and lucky if it's not thick glass. [Standing still and gazing past MR BLY] No sun, no trees, no faces—people don't pass in the sky, not even angels.
BLY. Ah! But you shouldn't brood over it. I knew a man in Valpiraso that 'ad spent 'arf 'is life in prison-a jolly feller; I forget what 'e'd done, somethin' bloody. I want to see you like him. Aren't you happy here?
FAITH. It's right enough, so long as I get out.
BLY. This Mr March—he's like all these novel-writers—thinks 'e knows 'uman nature, but of course 'e don't. Still, I can talk to 'im—got an open mind, and hates the Gover'ment. That's the two great things. Mrs March, so far as I see, 'as got her head screwed on much tighter.
FAITH. She has.
BLY. What's the young man like? He's a long feller.
FAITH. Johnny? [With a shrug and a little smile] Johnny.
BLY. Well, that gives a very good idea of him. They say 'es a poet; does 'e leave 'em about?
FAITH. I've seen one or two.
BLY. What's their tone?