FAITH. It hasn't any—only funny bits, and fashions. It's full of corsets.
MR MARCH. What does Cook want with corsets?
FAITH. She likes to think she looks like that.
MR MARCH. By George! Cook an idealist! Let's see!—er—I was speaking of chivalry. My son, you know—er—my son has got it.
FAITH. Badly?
MR MARCH. [Suddenly alive to the fact that she is playing with him] I started by being sorry for you.
FAITH. Aren't you, any more?
MR MARCH. Look here, my child!
FAITH looks up at him. [Protectingly] We want to do our best for you. Now, don't spoil it by— Well, you know!
FAITH. [Suddenly] Suppose you'd been stuffed away in a hole for years!