The door is opened, and MRS MARCH'S voice says: "Cook—a minute!"
[Preparing to go] Salt cellars one at each corner—four, and the peppers. [From the door] Now the decanters. Oh! you'll soon get on. [MRS MARCH "Cook!">[ Yes, ma'am.
She goes. FAITH, left alone, stands motionless, biting her pretty lip, her eyes mutinous. Hearing footsteps, she looks up. MR BLY, with his pail and cloths, appears outside.
BLY. [Preparing to work, while FAITH prepares to set the salt cellars] So you've got it! You never know your luck. Up to-day and down to-morrow. I'll 'ave a glass over this to-night. What d'you get?
FAITH. Thirty.
BLY. It's not the market price, still, you're not the market article. Now, put a good heart into it and get to know your job; you'll find Cook full o' philosophy if you treat her right—she can make a dumplin' with anybody. But look 'ere; you confine yourself to the ladies!
FAITH. I don't want your advice, father.
BLY. I know parents are out of date; still, I've put up with a lot on your account, so gimme a bit of me own back.
FAITH. I don't know whether I shall like this. I've been shut up so long. I want to see some life.
BLY. Well, that's natural. But I want you to do well. I suppose you'll be comin' 'ome to fetch your things to-night?