MRS MARCH. It seems to me you none of you have any idea what I am.
MARY. Well, do remember that there'll be no publicity to make either of you look small. You can have Peace with Honour, whatever you decide. [Listening] There they are! Now, Mother, don't be logical! It's so feminine.
As the door opens, MRS MARCH nervously fortifies herself with the third little glass of brandy. She remains seated. MARY is on her right.
MR MARCH leads into the room and stands next his daughter, then FAITH in hat and coat to the left of the table, and JOHNNY, pale but determined, last. Assembled thus, in a half fan, of which MRS MARCH is the apex, so to speak, they are all extremely embarrassed, and no wonder.
Suddenly MARY gives a little gurgle.
JOHNNY. You'd think it funnier if you'd just come out of prison and were going to be chucked out of your job, on to the world again.
FAITH. I didn't want to come down here. If I'm to go I want to go at once. And if I'm not, it's my evening out, please.
She moves towards the door. JOHNNY takes her by the shoulders.
JOHNNY. Stand still, and leave it to me. [FAITH looks up at him, hypnotized by his determination] Now, mother, I've come down at your request to discuss this; are you ready to keep her? Otherwise up we go again.
MR MARCH. That's not the way to go to work, Johnny. You mustn't ask people to eat their words raw—like that.