BLY. Oh! but 'oo's to learn 'er? Couldn't you learn your son instead?
MRS MARCH. No. My son is very high-minded.
BLY. [Dubiously] I see. How am I goin' to get over this? Shall I tell you what I think, ma'am?
MRS MARCH. I'm afraid it'll be no good.
BLY. That's it. Character's born, not made. You can clean yer winders and clean 'em, but that don't change the colour of the glass. My father would have given her a good hidin', but I shan't. Why not? Because my glass ain't as thick as his. I see through it; I see my girl's temptations, I see what she is—likes a bit o' life, likes a flower, an' a dance. She's a natural morganatic.
MRS MARCH. A what?
BLY. Nothin'll ever make her regular. Mr March'll understand how I feel. Poor girl! In the mud again. Well, we must keep smilin'. [His face is as long as his arm] The poor 'ave their troubles, there's no doubt. [He turns to go] There's nothin' can save her but money, so as she can do as she likes. Then she wouldn't want to do it.
MRS MARCH. I'm very sorry, but there it is.
BLY. And I thought she was goin' to be a success here. Fact is, you can't see anything till it 'appens. There's winders all round, but you can't see. Follow your instincts—it's the only way.
MRS MARCH. It hasn't helped your daughter.