MRS MARCH. No, Cook. Mind—that's flat!
COOK. Aren't I to feed Faith, ma'am?
MR MARCH. Gad! It wants it!
MRS MARCH. Johnny must come down to earth.
COOK. Ah! I remember how he used to fall down when he was little—he would go about with his head in the air. But he always picked himself up like a little man.
MARY. Listen!
They all listen. The distant sounds of a concertina being played with fury drift in through the open door.
COOK. Don't it sound 'eavenly!
The concertina utters a long wail.
CURTAIN.