YOUNG M. What have you got to do with her?
JOHNNY. Quit.
YOUNG M. I'll quit with her, and not before. She's my girl.
JOHNNY. Are you his girl?
FAITH. Yes.
MRS MARCH sits down again, and reaching out her left hand, mechanically draws to her the glass of brandy which her husband had poured out for himself and left undrunk.
JOHNNY. Then why did you—[He is going to say: "Kiss me," but checks himself]—let me think you hadn't any friends? Who is this fellow?
YOUNG M. A little more civility, please.
JOHNNY. You look a blackguard, and I believe you are.
MR MARCH. [With perfunctory authority] I really can't have this sort of thing in my house. Johnny, go upstairs; and you two, please go away.