MR MARCH. Well, don't we want a maid?
MRS MARCH. [Ineffably] Ridiculous!
MR MARCH. We tested her, didn't we, Mary?
MRS MARCH. [Crossing to the bell, and ringing] You'll just send for Mr Bly and get rid of her again.
MR MARCH. Joan, if we comfortable people can't put ourselves a little out of the way to give a helping hand—
MRS MARCH. To girls who smother their babies?
MR MARCH. Joan, I revolt. I won't be a hypocrite and a Pharisee.
MRS MARCH. Well, for goodness sake let me be one.
MARY. [As the door opens]. Here's Cook!
COOK stands—sixty, stout, and comfortable with a crumpled smile.