MR MARCH. [Side-tracked again] Just what your father said. The more I see of Mr Bly, the more wise I think him.
FAITH. About other people.
MR MARCH. What sort of bringing up did he give you?
FAITH smiles wryly and shrugs her shoulders.
MR MARCH. H'm! Here comes the sun again!
FAITH. [Taking up the flower which is lying on the table] May I have this flower?
MR MARCH. Of Course. You can always take what flowers you like—that is—if—er—
FAITH. If Mrs March isn't about?
MR MARCH. I meant, if it doesn't spoil the look of the table. We must all be artists in our professions, mustn't we?
FAITH. My profession was cutting hair. I would like to cut yours.