MR MARCH. Look here, my child!
FAITH looks up at him. [Protectingly] We want to do our best for you.
Now, don't spoil it by— Well, you know!
FAITH. [Suddenly] Suppose you'd been stuffed away in a hole for years!
MR MARCH. [Side-tracked again] Just what your father said. The more I see of Mr Bly, the more wise I think him.
FAITH. About other people.
MR MARCH. What sort of bringing up did he give you?
FAITH smiles wryly and shrugs her shoulders.
MR MARCH. H'm! Here comes the sun again!
FAITH. [Taking up the flower which is lying on the table] May I have this flower?
MR MARCH. Of Course. You can always take what flowers you like—that is—if—er—