MARY. Here you are, Dad! I've filled up the ink pot. Do be careful! Come on, Johnny!
She looks curiously at MR BLY, who has begun operations at the bottom of the left-hand window, and goes, followed by JOHNNY.
MR MARCH. [Relighting his pipe and preparing his materials] What do you think of things, Mr Bly?
BLY. Not much, sir.
MR MARCH. Ah! [He looks up at MR BLY, struck by his large philosophical eyes and moth-eaten moustache] Nor I.
BLY. I rather thought that, sir, from your writin's.
MR MARCH. Oh! Do you read?
BLY. I was at sea, once—formed the 'abit.
MR MARCH. Read any of my novels?
BLY. Not to say all through—I've read some of your articles in the Sunday papers, though. Make you think!