P. C. MAN. There, miss, don't let your feelings—
FAITH. [To the YOUNG MAN] It's a lie, isn't it?
YOUNG M. A blankety lie.
MR MARCH. [To BARNABAs] Have you actual proof?
YOUNG M. Proof? It's his job to get chaps into a mess.
P. C. MAN. [Sharply] None of your lip, now!
At the new tone in his voice FAITH turns and visibly quails, like a dog that has been shown a whip.
MR MARCH. Inexpressibly painful!
YOUNG M. Ah! How would you like to be insulted in front of your girl? If you're a gentleman you'll tell him to leave the house. If he's got a warrant, let him produce it; if he hasn't, let him get out.
P. C. MAN. [To MR MARCH] You'll understand, sir, that my object in speakin' to you to-night was for the good of the girl. Strictly, I've gone a bit out of my way. If my job was to get men into trouble, as he says, I'd only to wait till he's got hold of her. These fellows, you know, are as cunning as lynxes and as impudent as the devil.