BLY. [Taking up his pail] I quite understand, sir; I've been a married man myself. It's very queer the way women look at things. I'll take her away now, and come back presently and do these other winders. You can talk it over by yourselves. But if you do see your way, sir, I shan't forget it in an 'urry. To 'ave the responsibility of her—really, it's dreadful.
FAITH's face has grown sullen during this speech, but it clears up in another little soft look at MR MARCH, as she and MR BLY go out.
MR MARCH. Well, Mary, have I done it?
MARY. You have, Dad.
MR MARCH. [Running his hands through his hair] Pathetic little figure! Such infernal inhumanity!
MARY. How are you going to put it to mother?
MR MARCH. Tell her the story, and pitch it strong.
MARY. Mother's not impulsive.
MR MARCH. We must tell her, or she'll think me mad.
MARY. She'll do that, anyway, dear.