MR MARCH. Not at all, not at all!
FAITH. Oh! Yes, I have. There's nothing to be done with a girl like me. She goes out.
JOHNNY. [Taking up the decanter to pour himself out a glass of brandy] Empty!
COOK. [Who has entered with a tray] Yes, my dearie, I'm sure you are.
JOHNNY. [Staring at his father] A vision, Dad! Windows of Clubs—men sitting there; and that girl going by with rouge on her cheeks—
COOK. Oh! Master Johnny!
JOHNNY. A blue night—the moon over the Park. And she stops and looks at it.—What has she wanted—the beautiful—something better than she's got—something that she'll never get!
COOK. Oh! Master Johnny!
She goes up to JOHNNY and touches his forehead. He comes to himself and hurries to the door, but suddenly MRS MARCH utters a little feathery laugh. She stands up, swaying slightly. There is something unusual and charming in her appearance, as if formality had dropped from her.
MRS MARCH. [With a sort of delicate slow lack of perfect sobriety] I see—it—all. You—can't—help—unless—you—love!