MRS MARCH nervously refills the little brandy glass, and again empties it, with a grimacing shudder.
MR MARCH. [Noticing] That's better! You'll begin to see things presently.
MARY re-enters.
MARY. He's been digging himself in. He's put a screen across the head of the stairs, and got Cook's blankets. He's going to sleep there.
MRS MARCH. Did he take the walnuts?
MARY. No; he passed them in to her. He says he's on hunger strike. But he's eaten all the chocolate and smoked himself sick. He's having the time of his life, mother.
MR MARCH. There you are!
MRS MARCH. Wait till this time to-morrow.
MARY. Cook's been up again. He wouldn't let her pass. She'll have to sleep in the spare room.
MR MARCH. I say!