FAITH sets down the salt cellar in her hand, puts her tongue out a very little, and goes out into the hall. MR BLY is gathering up his pail and cloths when MR MARCH enters at the window.
MR MARCH. So it's fixed up, Mr Bly.
BLY. [Raising himself] I'd like to shake your 'and, sir. [They shake hands] It's a great weight off my mind.
MR MARCH. It's rather a weight on my wife's, I'm afraid. But we must hope for the best. The country wants rain, but—I doubt if we shall get it with this Government.
BLY. Ah! We want the good old times-when you could depend on the seasons. The further you look back the more dependable the times get; 'ave you noticed that, sir?
MR MARCH. [Suddenly] Suppose they'd hanged your daughter, Mr Bly. What would you have done?
BLY. Well, to be quite frank, I should 'ave got drunk on it.
MR MARCH. Public opinion's always in advance of the Law. I think your daughter's a most pathetic little figure.
BLY. Her looks are against her. I never found a man that didn't.
MR MARCH. [A little disconcerted] Well, we'll try and give her a good show here.