He takes up his pail and cloths and moves out through the windows.
FAITH puts another chocolate into her mouth, and taking up a flower, twirls round with it held to her nose, and looks at herself in the glass over the hearth. She is still looking at herself when she sees in the mirror a reflection of JOHNNY, who has come in. Her face grows just a little scared, as if she had caught the eye of a warder peering through the peep-hole of her cell door, then brazens, and slowly sweetens as she turns round to him.
JOHNNY. Sorry! [He has a pipe in his hand and wears a Norfolk jacket]Fond of flowers?
FAITH. Yes. [She puts back the flower] Ever so!
JOHNNY. Stick to it. Put it in your hair; it'll look jolly. How do you like it here?
FAITH. It's quiet.
JOHNNY. Ha! I wonder if you've got the feeling I have. We've both had hell, you know; I had three years of it, out there, and you've had three years of it here. The feeling that you can't catch up; can't live fast enough to get even.
FAITH nods.
Nothing's big enough; nothing's worth while enough—is it?
FAITH. I don't know. I know I'd like to bite. She draws her lips back.
JOHNNY. Ah! Tell me all about your beastly time; it'll do you good. You and I are different from anybody else in this house. We've lived they've just vegetated. Come on; tell me!
FAITH, who up to now has looked on him as a young male, stares at him for the first time without sex in her eyes.
FAITH. I can't. We didn't talk in there, you know.
JOHNNY. Were you fond of the chap who—?
FAITH. No. Yes. I suppose I was—once.
JOHNNY. He must have been rather a swine.
FAITH. He's dead.
JOHNNY. Sorry! Oh, sorry!
FAITH. I've forgotten all that.
JOHNNY. Beastly things, babies; and absolutely unnecessary in the present state of the world.
FAITH. [With a faint smile] My baby wasn't beastly; but I—I got upset.
JOHNNY. Well, I should think so!
FAITH. My friend in the manicure came and told me about hers when I was lying in the hospital. She couldn't have it with her, so it got neglected and died.
JOHNNY. Um! I believe that's quite common.
FAITH. And she told me about another girl—the Law took her baby from her. And after she was gone, I—got all worked up— [She hesitates, then goes swiftly on] And I looked at mine; it was asleep just here, quite close. I just put out my arm like that, over its face—quite soft— I didn't hurt it. I didn't really. [She suddenly swallows, and her lips quiver] I didn't feel anything under my arm. And—and a beast of a nurse came on me, and said "You've smothered your baby, you wretched girl!"
I didn't want to kill it—I only wanted to save it from living. And whenI looked at it, I went off screaming.
JOHNNY. I nearly screamed when I saved my first German from living. I never felt the same again. They say the human race has got to go on, but I say they've first got to prove that the human race wants to. Would you rather be alive or dead?
FAITH. Alive.
JOHNNY. But would you have in prison?
FAITH. I don't know. You can't tell anything in there. [With sudden vehemence] I wish I had my baby back, though. It was mine; and I—I don't like thinking about it.
JOHNNY. I know. I hate to think about anything I've killed, really.At least, I should—but it's better not to think.
FAITH. I could have killed that judge.
JOHNNY. Did he come the heavy father? That's what I can't stand. When they jaw a chap and hang him afterwards. Or was he one of the joking ones?
FAITH. I've sat in my cell and cried all night—night after night,I have. [With a little laugh] I cried all the softness out of me.
JOHNNY. You never believed they were going to hang you, did you?
FAITH. I didn't care if they did—not then.
JOHNNY. [With a reflective grunt] You had a much worse time than I. You were lonely—
FAITH. Have you been in a prison, ever?
JOHNNY. No, thank God!
FAITH. It's awfully clean.
JOHNNY. You bet.
FAITH. And it's stone cold. It turns your heart.
JOHNNY. Ah! Did you ever see a stalactite?
FAITH. What's that?
JOHNNY. In caves. The water drops like tears, and each drop has some sort of salt, and leaves it behind till there's just a long salt petrified drip hanging from the roof.
FAITH. Ah! [Staring at him] I used to stand behind my door. I'd stand there sometimes I don't know how long. I'd listen and listen—the noises are all hollow in a prison. You'd think you'd get used to being shut up, but I never did.
JOHNNY utters a deep grunt.
It's awful the feeling you get here-so tight and chokey. People who are free don't know what it's like to be shut up. If I'd had a proper window even—When you can see things living, it makes you feel alive.
JOHNNY. [Catching her arm] We'll make you feel alive again.
FAITH stares at him; sex comes back to her eyes. She looks down.
I bet you used to enjoy life, before.
FAITH. [Clasping her hands] Oh! yes, I did. And I love getting out now. I've got a fr— [She checks herself] The streets are beautiful, aren't they? Do you know Orleens Street?
JOHNNY. [Doubtful] No-o. . . . Where?
FAITH. At the corner out of the Regent. That's where we had our shop.I liked the hair-dressing. We had fun. Perhaps I've seen you before.Did you ever come in there?
JOHNNY. No.
FAITH. I'd go back there; only they wouldn't take me—I'm too conspicuous now.
JOHNNY. I expect you're well out of that.
FAITH. [With a sigh] But I did like it. I felt free. We had an hour off in the middle of the day; you could go where you liked; and then, after hours—I love the streets at night—all lighted. Olga—that's one of the other girls—and I used to walk about for hours. That's life! Fancy! I never saw a street for more than two years. Didn't you miss them in the war?
JOHNNY. I missed grass and trees more—the trees! All burnt, and splintered. Gah!
FAITH. Yes, I like trees too; anything beautiful, you know. I think the parks are lovely—but they might let you pick the flowers. But the lights are best, really—they make you feel happy. And music—I love an organ. There was one used to come and play outside the prison—before I was tried. It sounded so far away and lovely. If I could 'ave met the man that played that organ, I'd have kissed him. D'you think he did it on purpose?
JOHNNY. He would have, if he'd been me.
He says it unconsciously, but FAITH is instantly conscious of the implication.
FAITH. He'd rather have had pennies, though. It's all earning; working and earning. I wish I were like the flowers. [She twirls the dower in her hand] Flowers don't work, and they don't get put in prison.
JOHNNY. [Putting his arm round her] Never mind! Cheer up! You're only a kid. You'll have a good time yet.
FAITH leans against him, as it were indifferently, clearly expectinghim to kiss her, but he doesn't.
FAITH. When I was a little girl I had a cake covered with sugar. I ate the sugar all off and then I didn't want the cake—not much.
JOHNNY. [Suddenly, removing his arm] Gosh! If I could write a poem that would show everybody what was in the heart of everybody else—!
FAITH. It'd be too long for the papers, wouldn't it?
JOHNNY. It'd be too strong.
FAITH. Besides, you don't know.
Her eyelids go up.
JOHNNY. [Staring at her] I could tell what's in you now.
FAITH. What?
JOHNNY. You feel like a flower that's been picked.
FAITH's smile is enigmatic.
FAITH. [Suddenly] Why do you go on about me so?
JOHNNY. Because you're weak—little and weak. [Breaking out again] Damn it! We went into the war to save the little and weak; at least we said so; and look at us now! The bottom's out of all that. [Bitterly] There isn't a faith or an illusion left. Look here! I want to help you.
FAITH. [Surprisingly] My baby was little and weak.
JOHNNY. You never meant—You didn't do it for your own advantage.
FAITH. It didn't know it was alive. [Suddenly] D'you think I'm pretty?
JOHNNY. As pie.
FAITH. Then you'd better keep away, hadn't you?
JOHNNY. Why?
FAITH. You might want a bite.
JOHNNY. Oh! I can trust myself.
FAITH. [Turning to the window, through which can be seen the darkening of a shower] It's raining. Father says windows never stay clean.
They stand dose together, unaware that COOK has thrown up the service shutter, to see why the clearing takes so long. Her astounded head and shoulders pass into view just as FAITH suddenly puts up her face. JOHNNY'S lips hesitate, then move towards her forehead. But her face shifts, and they find themselves upon her lips. Once there, the emphasis cannot help but be considerable. COOK'S mouth falls open.
COOK. Oh!
She closes the shutter, vanishing.
FAITH. What was that?
JOHNNY. Nothing. [Breaking away] Look here! I didn't mean—I oughtn't to have—Please forget it!
FAITH. [With a little smile] Didn't you like it?
JOHNNY. Yes—that's just it. I didn't mean to It won't do.
FAITH. Why not?
JOHNNY. No, no! It's just the opposite of what—No, no!
He goes to the door, wrenches it open and goes out.
FAITH, still with that little half-mocking, half-contented smile, resumes the clearing of the table. She is interrupted by the entrance through the French windows of MR MARCH and MARY, struggling with one small wet umbrella.
MARY. [Feeling his sleeve] Go and change, Dad.
MR MARCH. Women's shoes! We could have made the Tube but for your shoes.
MARY. It was your cold feet, not mine, dear. [Looking at FAITH and nudging him] Now!
She goes towards the door, turns to look at FAITH still clearing thetable, and goes out.
MR MARCH. [In front of the hearth] Nasty spring weather, Faith.
FAITH. [Still in the mood of the kiss] Yes, Sir.
MR MARCH. [Sotto voce] "In the spring a young man's fancy." I—I wanted to say something to you in a friendly way.
FAITH regards him as he struggles on. Because I feel very friendlytowards you.
FAITH. Yes.
MR MARCH. So you won't take what I say in bad part?
FAITH. No.
MR MARCH. After what you've been through, any man with a sense of chivalry—
FAITH gives a little shrug.
Yes, I know—but we don't all support the Government.
FAITH. I don't know anything about the Government.
MR MARCH. [Side-tracked on to his hobby] Ah I forgot. You saw no newspapers. But you ought to pick up the threads now. What paper does Cook take?
MR MARCH. "Cosy"? I don't seem— What are its politics?
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!
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.
MR MARCH'S hands instinctively go up to it.
MR MARCH. You mightn't think it, but I'm talking to you seriously.
FAITH. I was, too.
MR MARCH. [Out of his depth] Well! I got wet; I must go and change.
FAITH follows him with her eyes as he goes out, and resumes the clearing of the table. She has paused and is again smelling at the flower when she hears the door, and quickly resumes her work. It is MRS MARCH, who comes in and goes to the writing table, Left Back, without looking at FAITH. She sits there writing a cheque, while FAITH goes on clearing.
MRS MARCH. [Suddenly, in an unruffled voice] I have made your cheque out for four pounds. It's rather more than the fortnight, and a month's notice. There'll be a cab for you in an hour's time. Can you be ready by then?
FAITH. [Astonished] What for—ma'am?
MRS MARCH. You don't suit.
FAITH. Why?
MRS MARCH. Do you wish for the reason?
FAITH. [Breathless] Yes.
MRS MARCH. Cook saw you just now.
FAITH. [Blankly] Oh! I didn't mean her to.
MRS MARCH. Obviously.
MRS MARCH. Now go and pack up your things.
FAITH. He asked me to be a friend to him. He said he was lonely here.
MRS MARCH. Don't be ridiculous. Cook saw you kissing him with p—p—
FAITH. [Quickly] Not with pep.
MRS MARCH. I was going to say "passion." Now, go quietly.
FAITH. Where am I to go?
MRS MARCH. You will have four pounds, and you can get another place.
FAITH. How?
MRS MARCH. That's hardly my affair.
FAITH. [Tossing her head] All right!
MRS MARCH. I'll speak to your father, if he isn't gone.
FAITH. Why do you send me away—just for a kiss! What's a kiss?
MRS MARCH. That will do.
FAITH. [Desperately] He wanted to—to save me.
MRS MARCH. You know perfectly well people can only save themselves.
FAITH. I don't care for your son; I've got a young—[She checks herself]I—I'll leave your son alone, if he leaves me.
MRS MARCH rings the bell on the table.
[Desolately] Well? [She moves towards the door. Suddenly holding out the flower] Mr March gave me that flower; would you like it back?
MRS MARCH. Don't be absurd! If you want more money till you get a place, let me know.
FAITH. I won't trouble you.
She goes out.
MRS MARCH goes to the window and drums her fingers on the pane.
COOK enters.
MRS MARCH. Cook, if Mr Bly's still here, I want to see him. Oh! And it's three now. Have a cab at four o'clock.
COOK. [Almost tearful] Oh, ma'am—anybody but Master Johnny, and I'd 'ave been a deaf an' dummy. Poor girl! She's not responsive, I daresay. Suppose I was to speak to Master Johnny?
MRS MARCH. No, no, Cook! Where's Mr Bly?
COOK. He's done his windows; he's just waiting for his money.
MRS MARCH. Then get him; and take that tray.
COOK. I remember the master kissin' me, when he was a boy. But then he never meant anything; so different from Master Johnny. Master Johnny takes things to 'eart.
MRS MARCH. Just so, Cook.
COOK. There's not an ounce of vice in 'im. It's all his goodness, dear little feller.
MRS MARCH. That's the danger, with a girl like that.
COOK. It's eatin' hearty all of a sudden that's made her poptious. But there, ma'am, try her again. Master Johnny'll be so cut up!
MRS MARCH. No playing with fire, Cook. We were foolish to let her come.
COOK. Oh! dear, he will be angry with me. If you hadn't been in the kitchen and heard me, ma'am, I'd ha' let it pass.
MRS MARCH. That would have been very wrong of you.
COOK. Ah! But I'd do a lot of wrong things for Master Johnny. There's always some one you'll go wrong for!
MRS MARCH. Well, get Mr Bly; and take that tray, there's a good soul.
COOK goes out with the tray; and while waiting, MRS MARCH finishes clearing the table. She has not quite finished when MR BLY enters.
BLY. Your service, ma'am!
MRS MARCH. [With embarrassment] I'm very sorry, Mr Bly, but circumstances over which I have no control—
BLY. [With deprecation] Ah! we all has them. The winders ought to be done once a week now the Spring's on 'em.
MRS MARCH. No, no; it's your daughter—
BLY. [Deeply] Not been given' way to'er instincts, I do trust.
MRS MARCH. Yes. I've just had to say good-bye to her.
BLY. [Very blank] Nothing to do with property, I hope?
MRS MARCH. No, no! Giddiness with my son. It's impossible; she really must learn.
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.
BLY. I was speakin' philosophic! Well, I'll go 'ome now, and prepare meself for the worst.
MRS MARCH. Has Cook given you your money?
BLY. She 'as.
He goes out gloomily and is nearly overthrown in the doorway by the violent entry of JOHNNY.
JOHNNY. What's this, Mother? I won't have it—it's pre-war.
MRS MARCH. [Indicating MR BLY] Johnny!
JOHNNY waves BLY out of the room and doses the door.
JOHNNY. I won't have her go. She's a pathetic little creature.
MRS MARCH. [Unruffled] She's a minx.
JOHNNY. Mother!
MRS MARCH. Now, Johnny, be sensible. She's a very pretty girl, and this is my house.
JOHNNY. Of course you think the worst. Trust anyone who wasn't in the war for that!
MRS MARCH. I don't think either the better or the worse. Kisses are kisses!
JOHNNY. Mother, you're like the papers—you put in all the vice and leave out all the virtue, and call that human nature. The kiss was an accident that I bitterly regret.
MRS MARCH. Johnny, how can you?
JOHNNY. Dash it! You know what I mean. I regret it with my—my conscience. It shan't occur again.
MRS MARCH. Till next time.
JOHNNY. Mother, you make me despair. You're so matter-of-fact, you never give one credit for a pure ideal.
MRS MARCH. I know where ideals lead.
JOHNNY. Where?
MRS MARCH. Into the soup. And the purer they are, the hotter the soup.
JOHNNY. And you married father!
MRS MARCH. I did.
JOHNNY. Well, that girl is not to be chucked out; won't have her on my chest.
MRS MARCH. That's why she's going, Johnny.
JOHNNY. She is not. Look at me!
MRS MARCH looks at him from across the dining-table, for he has marched up to it, till they are staring at each other across the now cleared rosewood.
MRS MARCH. How are you going to stop her?
JOHNNY. Oh, I'll stop her right enough. If I stuck it out in Hell, I can stick it out in Highgate.
MRS MARCH. Johnny, listen. I've watched this girl; and I don't watch what I want to see—like your father—I watch what is. She's not a hard case—yet; but she will be.
JOHNNY. And why? Because all you matter-of-fact people make up your minds to it. What earthly chance has she had?
MRS MARCH. She's a baggage. There are such things, you know, Johnny.
JOHNNY. She's a little creature who went down in the scrum and has been kicked about ever since.
MRS MARCH. I'll give her money, if you'll keep her at arm's length.
JOHNNY. I call that revolting. What she wants is the human touch.
MRS MARCH. I've not a doubt of it.
JOHNNY rises in disgust.
Johnny, what is the use of wrapping the thing up in catchwords? Human touch! A young man like you never saved a girl like her. It's as fantastic as—as Tolstoi's "Resurrection."
JOHNNY. Tolstoi was the most truthful writer that ever lived.
MRS MARCH. Tolstoi was a Russian—always proving that what isn't, is.
JOHNNY. Russians are charitable, anyway, and see into other people's souls.
MRS MARCH. That's why they're hopeless.
JOHNNY. Well—for cynicism—
MRS MARCH. It's at least as important, Johnny, to see into ourselves as into other people. I've been trying to make your father understand that ever since we married. He'd be such a good writer if he did—he wouldn't write at all.
JOHNNY. Father has imagination.
MRS MARCH. And no business to meddle with practical affairs. You and he always ride in front of the hounds. Do you remember when the war broke out, how angry you were with me because I said we were fighting from a sense of self-preservation? Well, weren't we?
JOHNNY. That's what I'm doing now, anyway.
MRS MARCH. Saving this girl, to save yourself?
JOHNNY. I must have something decent to do sometimes. There isn't an ideal left.
MRS MARCH. If you knew how tired I am of the word, Johnny!
JOHNNY. There are thousands who feel like me—that the bottom's out of everything. It sickens me that anything in the least generous should get sat on by all you people who haven't risked your lives.
MRS MARCH. [With a smile] I risked mine when you were born, Johnny.You were always very difficult.
JOHNNY. That girl's been telling me—I can see the whole thing.
MRS MARCH. The fact that she suffered doesn't alter her nature; or the danger to you and us.
JOHNNY. There is no danger—I told her I didn't mean it.
MRS MARCH. And she smiled? Didn't she?
JOHNNY. I—I don't know.
MRS MARCH. If you were ordinary, Johnny, it would be the girl's look-out. But you're not, and I'm not going to have you in the trap she'll set for you.
JOHNNY. You think she's a designing minx. I tell you she's got no more design in her than a rabbit. She's just at the mercy of anything.
MRS MARCH. That's the trap. She'll play on your feelings, and you'll be caught.
JOHNNY. I'm not a baby.
MRS MARCH. You are—and she'll smother you.
JOHNNY. How beastly women are to each other!
MRS MARCH. We know ourselves, you see. The girl's father realises perfectly what she is.
JOHNNY. Mr Bly is a dodderer. And she's got no mother. I'll bet you've never realised the life girls who get outed lead. I've seen them—I saw them in France. It gives one the horrors.
MRS MARCH. I can imagine it. But no girl gets "outed," as you call it, unless she's predisposed that way.
JOHNNY. That's all you know of the pressure of life.
MRS MARCH. Excuse me, Johnny. I worked three years among factory girls, and I know how they manage to resist things when they've got stuff in them.
JOHNNY. Yes, I know what you mean by stuff—good hard self-preservative instinct. Why should the wretched girl who hasn't got that be turned down? She wants protection all the more.
MRS MARCH. I've offered to help with money till she gets a place.
JOHNNY. And you know she won't take it. She's got that much stuff in her. This place is her only chance. I appeal to you, Mother—please tell her not to go.
MRS MARCH. I shall not, Johnny.
JOHNNY. [Turning abruptly] Then we know where we are.
MRS MARCH. I know where you'll be before a week's over.
JOHNNY. Where?
MRS MARCH. In her arms.
JOHNNY. [From the door, grimly] If I am, I'll have the right to be!
MRS MARCH. Johnny! [But he is gone.]
MRS MARCH follows to call him back, but is met by MARY.
MARY. So you've tumbled, Mother?
MRS MARCH. I should think I have! Johnny is making an idiot of himself about that girl.
MARY. He's got the best intentions.
MRS MARCH. It's all your father. What can one expect when your father carries on like a lunatic over his paper every morning?
MARY. Father must have opinions of his own.
MRS MARCH. He has only one: Whatever is, is wrong.
MARY. He can't help being intellectual, Mother.
MRS MARCH. If he would only learn that the value of a sentiment is the amount of sacrifice you are prepared to make for it!
MARY. Yes: I read that in "The Times" yesterday. Father's much safer than Johnny. Johnny isn't safe at all; he might make a sacrifice any day. What were they doing?
MRS MARCH. Cook caught them kissing.
MARY. How truly horrible!
As she speaks MR MARCH comes in.
MR MARCH. I met Johnny using the most poetic language. What's happened?
MRS MARCH. He and that girl. Johnny's talking nonsense about wanting to save her. I've told her to pack up.
MR MARCH. Isn't that rather coercive, Joan?
MRS MARCH. Do you approve of Johnny getting entangled with this girl?
MR MARCH. No. I was only saying to Mary—
MRS MARCH. Oh! You were!
MR MARCH. But I can quite see why Johnny—
MRS MARCH. The Government, I suppose!
MR MARCH. Certainly.
MRS MARCH. Well, perhaps you'll get us out of the mess you've got us into.
MR MARCH. Where's the girl?
MRS MARCH. In her room-packing.
MR MARCH. We must devise means—
MRS MARCH smiles.
The first thing is to see into them—and find out exactly—
MRS MARCH. Heavens! Are you going to have them X-rayed? They haven't got chest trouble, Geof.
MR MARCH. They may have heart trouble. It's no good being hasty, Joan.
MRS MARCH. Oh! For a man that can't see an inch into human nature, give me a—psychological novelist!
MR MARCH. [With dignity] Mary, go and see where Johnny is.
MARY. Do you want him here?
MR MARCH. Yes.
MARY. [Dubiously] Well—if I can.
She goes out. A silence, during which the MARCHES look at eachother by those turns which characterise exasperated domesticity.
MRS MARCH. If she doesn't go, Johnny must. Are you going to turn him out?
MR MARCH. Of course not. We must reason with him.
MRS MARCH. Reason with young people whose lips were glued together half an hour ago! Why ever did you force me to take this girl?
MR MARCH. [Ruefully] One can't always resist a kindly impulse, Joan.What does Mr Bly say to it?
MRS MARCH. Mr Bly? "Follow your instincts "and then complains of his daughter for following them.
MR MARCH. The man's a philosopher.
MRS MARCH. Before we know where we are, we shall be having Johnny married to that girl.
MR MARCH. Nonsense!
MRS MARCH. Oh, Geof! Whenever you're faced with reality, you say"Nonsense!" You know Johnny's got chivalry on the brain.
MARY comes in.
MARY. He's at the top of the servants' staircase; outside her room.He's sitting in an armchair, with its back to her door.
MR MARCH. Good Lord! Direct action!
MARY. He's got his pipe, a pound of chocolate, three volumes of "MonteCristo," and his old concertina. He says it's better than the trenches.
MR MARCH. My hat! Johnny's made a joke. This is serious.
MARY. Nobody can get up, and she can't get down. He says he'll stay there till all's blue, and it's no use either of you coming unless mother caves in.
MR MARCH. I wonder if Cook could do anything with him?
MARY. She's tried. He told her to go to hell.
MR MARCH. I Say! And what did Cook—?
MARY. She's gone.
MR MARCH. Tt! tt! This is very awkward.
COOK enters through the door which MARY has left open.
MR MARCH. Ah, Cook! You're back, then? What's to be done?
MRS MARCH. [With a laugh] We must devise means!
COOK. Oh, ma'am, it does remind me so of the tantrums he used to get into, dear little feller! Smiles with recollection.
MRS MARCH. [Sharply] You're not to take him up anything to eat, Cook!
COOK. Oh! But Master Johnny does get so hungry. It'll drive him wild, ma'am. Just a Snack now and then!
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.
The MARCH'S dining-room on the same evening at the end of a perfunctory dinner. MRS MARCH sits at the dining-table with her back to the windows, MARY opposite the hearth, and MR MARCH with his back to it. JOHNNY is not present. Silence and gloom.
MR MARCH. We always seem to be eating.
MRS MARCH. You've eaten nothing.
MR MARCH. [Pouring himself out a liqueur glass of brandy but not drinking it] It's humiliating to think we can't exist without. [Relapses into gloom.]
MRS MARCH. Mary, pass him the walnuts.
MARY. I was thinking of taking them up to Johnny.
MR MARCH. [Looking at his watch] He's been there six hours; even he can't live on faith.
MRS MARCH. If Johnny wants to make a martyr of himself, I can't help it.
MARY. How many days are you going to let him sit up there, Mother?
MR MARCH. [Glancing at MRS MARCH] I never in my life knew anything so ridiculous.
MRS MARCH. Give me a little glass of brandy, Geof.
MR MARCH. Good! That's the first step towards seeing reason.
He pours brandy into a liqueur glass from the decanter which stands between them. MRS MARCH puts the brandy to her lips and makes a little face, then swallows it down manfully. MARY gets up with the walnuts and goes. Silence. Gloom.
MRS MARCH. Horrid stuff!
MR MARCH. Haven't you begun to see that your policy's hopeless, Joan?Come! Tell the girl she can stay. If we make Johnny feel victorious—wecan deal with him. It's just personal pride—the curse of this world.Both you and Johnny are as stubborn as mules.
MRS MARCH. Human nature is stubborn, Geof. That's what you easy—going people never see.
MR MARCH gets up, vexed, and goes to the fireplace.
MR MARCH. [Turning] Well! This goes further than you think. It involves Johnny's affection and respect for you.
MRS MARCH nervously refills the little brandy glass, and againempties 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!
MARY. And he's got the books out of her room.
MRS MARCH. D'you know what they are? "The Scarlet Pimpernel,""The Wide Wide World," and the Bible.
MARY. Johnny likes romance.
She crosses to the fire.
MR MARCH. [In a low voice] Are you going to leave him up there with the girl and that inflammatory literature, all night? Where's your common sense, Joan?
MRS MARCH starts up, presses her hand over her brow, and sits down again. She is stumped.
[With consideration for her defeat] Have another tot! [He pours it out] Let Mary go up with a flag of truce, and ask them both to come down for a thorough discussion of the whole thing, on condition that they can go up again if we don't come to terms.
MRS MARCH. Very well! I'm quite willing to meet him. I hate quarrelling with Johnny.
MR MARCH. Good! I'll go myself. [He goes out.]
MARY. Mother, this isn't a coal strike; don't discuss it for three hours and then at the end ask Johnny and the girl to do precisely what you're asking them to do now.
MRS MARCH. Why should I?
MARY. Because it's so usual. Do fix on half-way at once.
MRS MARCH. There is no half-way.
MARY. Well, for goodness sake think of a plan which will make you both look victorious. That's always done in the end. Why not let her stay, and make Johnny promise only to see her in the presence of a third party?
MRS MARCH. Because she'd see him every day while he was looking for the third party. She'd help him look for it.
MARY. [With a gurgle] Mother, I'd no idea you were so—French.
MRS MARCH. It seems to me you none of you have any idea what I am.
MARY. Well, do remember that there'll be no publicity to make either of you look small. You can have Peace with Honour, whatever you decide. [Listening] There they are! Now, Mother, don't be logical! It's so feminine.
As the door opens, MRS MARCH nervously fortifies herself with the third little glass of brandy. She remains seated. MARY is on her right.
MR MARCH leads into the room and stands next his daughter, then FAITH in hat and coat to the left of the table, and JOHNNY, pale but determined, last. Assembled thus, in a half fan, of which MRS MARCH is the apex, so to speak, they are all extremely embarrassed, and no wonder.
Suddenly MARY gives a little gurgle.
JOHNNY. You'd think it funnier if you'd just come out of prison and were going to be chucked out of your job, on to the world again.
FAITH. I didn't want to come down here. If I'm to go I want to go at once. And if I'm not, it's my evening out, please.
She moves towards the door. JOHNNY takes her by the shoulders.
JOHNNY. Stand still, and leave it to me. [FAITH looks up at him, hypnotized by his determination] Now, mother, I've come down at your request to discuss this; are you ready to keep her? Otherwise up we go again.
MR MARCH. That's not the way to go to work, Johnny. You mustn't ask people to eat their words raw—like that.
JOHNNY. Well, I've had no dinner, but I'm not going to eat my words, I tell you plainly.
MRS MARCH. Very well then; go up again.
MARY. [Muttering] Mother—logic.
MR MARCH. Great Scott! You two haven't the faintest idea of how to conduct a parley. We have—to—er—explore every path to—find a way to peace.
MRS MARCH. [To FAITH] Have you thought of anything to do, if you leave here?
FAITH. Yes.
JOHNNY. What?
FAITH. I shan't say.
JOHNNY. Of course, she'll just chuck herself away.
FAITH. No, I won't. I'll go to a place I know of, where they don't want references.
JOHNNY. Exactly!
MRS MARCH. [To FAITH] I want to ask you a question. Since you came out, is this the first young man who's kissed you?
FAITH has hardly had time to start and manifest what may or may notbe indignation when MR MARCH dashes his hands through his hair.
MR MARCH. Joan, really!
JOHNNY. [Grimly] Don't condescend to answer!
MRS MARCH. I thought we'd met to get at the truth.
MARY. But do they ever?
FAITH. I will go out!
JOHNNY. No! [And, as his back is against the door, she can't] I'll see that you're not insulted any more.
MR MARCH. Johnny, I know you have the best intentions, but really the proper people to help the young are the old—like—
FAITH suddenly turns her eyes on him, and he goes on ratherhurriedly
—your mother. I'm sure that she and I will be ready to stand by Faith.
FAITH. I don't want charity.
MR MARCH. No, no! But I hope—
MRS MARCH. To devise means.
MR MARCH. [Roused] Of course, if nobody will modify their attitude —Johnny, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, and [To MRS MARCH] so ought you, Joan.
JOHNNY. [Suddenly] I'll modify mine. [To FAITH] Come here—close! [In a low voice to FAITH] Will you give me your word to stay here, if I make them keep you?
FAITH. Why?
JOHNNY. To stay here quietly for the next two years?
FAITH. I don't know.
JOHNNY. I can make them, if you'll promise.
FAITH. You're just in a temper.
JOHNNY. Promise!
During this colloquy the MARCHES have been so profoundly uneasy thatMRS MARCH has poured out another glass of brandy.
MR MARCH. Johnny, the terms of the Armistice didn't include this sort of thing. It was to be all open and above-board.
JOHNNY. Well, if you don't keep her, I shall clear out.
At this bombshell MRS MARCH rises.
MARY. Don't joke, Johnny! You'll do yourself an injury.
JOHNNY. And if I go, I go for good.
MR MARCH. Nonsense, Johnny! Don't carry a good thing too far!
JOHNNY. I mean it.
MRS MARCH. What will you live on?
JOHNNY. Not poetry.
MRS MARCH. What, then?
JOHNNY. Emigrate or go into the Police.
MR MARCH. Good Lord! [Going up to his wife—in a low voice] Let her stay till Johnny's in his right mind.
FAITH. I don't want to stay.
JOHNNY. You shall!
MARY. Johnny, don't be a lunatic!
COOK enters, flustered.
COOK. Mr Bly, ma'am, come after his daughter.
MR MARCH. He can have her—he can have her!
COOK. Yes, sir. But, you see, he's—Well, there! He's cheerful.
MR MARCH. Let him come and take his daughter away.
But MR BLY has entered behind him. He has a fixed expression, and speaks with a too perfect accuracy.
BLY. Did your two Cooks tell you I'm here?
MR MARCH. If you want your daughter, you can take her.
JOHNNY. Mr Bly, get out!
BLY. [Ignoring him] I don't want any fuss with your two cooks.[Catching sight of MRS MARCH] I've prepared myself for this.
MRS MARCH. So we see.
BLY. I 'ad a bit o' trouble, but I kep' on till I see 'Aigel walkin' at me in the loo-lookin' glass. Then I knew I'd got me balance.
They all regard MR BLY in a fascinated manner.
FAITH. Father! You've been drinking.
BLY. [Smiling] What do you think.
MR MARCH. We have a certain sympathy with you, Mr Bly.
BLY. [Gazing at his daughter] I don't want that one. I'll take the other.
MARY. Don't repeat yourself, Mr Bly.
BLY. [With a flash of muddled insight] Well! There's two of everybody; two of my daughter; an' two of the 'Ome Secretary; and two-two of Cook —an' I don't want either. [He waves COOK aside, and grasps at a void alongside FAITH] Come along!
MR MARCH. [Going up to him] Very well, Mr Bly! See her home, carefully.Good-night!
BLY. Shake hands!
He extends his other hand; MR MARCH grasps it and turns him roundtowards the door.
MR MARCH. Now, take her away! Cook, go and open the front door for MrBly and his daughter.
BLY. Too many Cooks!
MR MARCH. Now then, Mr Bly, take her along!
BLY. [Making no attempt to acquire the real FAITH—to an apparition which he leads with his right hand] You're the one that died when my girl was 'ung. Will you go—first or shall—I?
The apparition does not answer.
MARY. Don't! It's horrible!
FAITH. I did die.
BLY. Prepare yourself. Then you'll see what you never saw before.
He goes out with his apparition, shepherded by MR MARCH.
MRS MARCH drinks off her fourth glass of brandy. A peculiar whistle is heard through the open door, and FAITH starts forward.
JOHNNY. Stand still!
FAITH. I—I must go.
MARY. Johnny—let her!
FAITH. There's a friend waiting for me.
JOHNNY. Let her wait! You're not fit to go out to-night.
MARY. Johnny! Really! You're not the girl's Friendly Society!
JOHNNY. You none of you care a pin's head what becomes of her. Can't you see she's on the edge? The whistle is heard again, but fainter.
FAITH. I'm not in prison now.
JOHNNY. [Taking her by the arm] All right! I'll come with you.
FAITH. [Recoiling] No.
Voices are heard in the hall.
MARY. Who's that with father? Johnny, for goodness' sake don't make us all ridiculous.
MR MARCH'S voice is heard saying: "Your friend in here." He enters, followed by a reluctant young man in a dark suit, with dark hair and a pale square face, enlivened by strange, very living, dark, bull's eyes.
MR MARCH. [To FAITH, who stands shrinking a little] I came on this—er —friend of yours outside; he's been waiting for you some time, he says.
MRS MARCH. [To FAITH] You can go now.
JOHNNY. [Suddenly, to the YOUNG MAN] Who are you?
YOUNG M. Ask another! [To FAITH] Are you ready?
JOHNNY. [Seeing red] No, she's not; and you'll just clear out.
MR MARCH. Johnny!
YOUNG M. What have you got to do with her?
JOHNNY. Quit.
YOUNG M. I'll quit with her, and not before. She's my girl.
JOHNNY. Are you his girl?
FAITH. Yes.
MRS MARCH sits down again, and reaching out her left hand, mechanically draws to her the glass of brandy which her husband had poured out for himself and left undrunk.
JOHNNY. Then why did you—[He is going to say: "Kiss me," but checks himself]—let me think you hadn't any friends? Who is this fellow?
YOUNG M. A little more civility, please.
JOHNNY. You look a blackguard, and I believe you are.
MR MARCH. [With perfunctory authority] I really can't have this sort of thing in my house. Johnny, go upstairs; and you two, please go away.
YOUNG M. [To JOHNNY] We know the sort of chap you are—takin' advantage of workin' girls.
JOHNNY. That's a foul lie. Come into the garden and I'll prove it on your carcase.
YOUNG M. All right!
FAITH. No; he'll hurt you. He's been in the war.
JOHNNY. [To the YOUNG MAN] You haven't, I'll bet.
YOUNG M. I didn't come here to be slanged.
JOHNNY. This poor girl is going to have a fair deal, and you're not going to give it her. I can see that with half an eye.
YOUNG M. You'll see it with no eyes when I've done with you.
JOHNNY. Come on, then.
He goes up to the windows.
MR MARCH. For God's sake, Johnny, stop this vulgar brawl!
FAITH. [Suddenly] I'm not a "poor girl" and I won't be called one. I don't want any soft words. Why can't you let me be? [Pointing to JOHNNY] He talks wild. [JOHNNY clutches the edge of the writing-table] Thinks he can "rescue" me. I don't want to be rescued. I—[All the feeling of years rises to the surface now that the barrier has broken] —I want to be let alone. I've paid for everything I've done—a pound for every shilling's worth.
And all because of one minute when I was half crazy. [Flashing round at MARY] Wait till you've had a baby you oughtn't to have had, and not a penny in your pocket! It's money—money—all money!
YOUNG M. Sst! That'll do!
FAITH. I'll have what I like now, not what you think's good for me.
MR MARCH. God knows we don't want to—
FAITH. You mean very well, Mr March, but you're no good.
MR MARCH. I knew it.
FAITH. You were very kind to me. But you don't see; nobody sees.
YOUNG M. There! That's enough! You're gettin' excited. You come away with me.
FAITH's look at him is like the look of a dog at her master.
JOHNNY. [From the background] I know you're a blackguard—I've seen your sort.
FAITH. [Firing up] Don't call him names! I won't have it. I'll go with whom I choose! [Her eyes suddenly fix themselves on the YOUNG MAN'S face] And I'm going with him!
COOK enters.
MR MARCH. What now, Cook?
COOK. A Mr Barnabas in the hall, sir. From the police.
Everybody starts. MRS MARCH drinks off her fifth little glass of brandy, then sits again.
MR MARCH. From the police?
He goes out, followed by COOK. A moment's suspense.
YOUNG M. Well, I can't wait any longer. I suppose we can go out the back way?
He draws FAITH towards the windows. But JOHNNY stands there,barring the way. JOHNNY. No, you don't.
FAITH. [Scared] Oh! Let me go—let him go!
JOHNNY. You may go. [He takes her arm to pull her to the window] He can't.
FAITH. [Freeing herself] No—no! Not if he doesn't.
JOHNNY has an evident moment of hesitation, and before it is over MR MARCH comes in again, followed by a man in a neat suit of plain clothes.
MR MARCH. I should like you to say that in front of her.
P. C. MAN. Your service, ma'am. Afraid I'm intruding here. Fact is, I've been waiting for a chance to speak to this young woman quietly. It's rather public here, sir; but if you wish, of course, I'll mention it. [He waits for some word from some one; no one speaks, so he goes on almost apologetically] Well, now, you're in a good place here, and you ought to keep it. You don't want fresh trouble, I'm sure.
FAITH. [Scared] What do you want with me?
P. C. MAN. I don't want to frighten you; but we've had word passed that you're associating with the young man there. I observed him to-night again, waiting outside here and whistling.
YOUNG M. What's the matter with whistling?
P. C. MAN. [Eyeing him] I should keep quiet if I was you. As you know, sir [To MR MARCH] there's a law nowadays against soo-tenors.
MR MARCH. Soo—?
JOHNNY. I knew it.
P. C. MAN. [Deprecating] I don't want to use any plain English—with ladies present—
YOUNG M. I don't know you. What are you after? Do you dare—?
P. C. MAN. We cut the darin', 'tisn't necessary. We know all about you.
FAITH. It's a lie!
P. C. MAN. There, miss, don't let your feelings—
FAITH. [To the YOUNG MAN] It's a lie, isn't it?
YOUNG M. A blankety lie.
MR MARCH. [To BARNABAs] Have you actual proof?
YOUNG M. Proof? It's his job to get chaps into a mess.
P. C. MAN. [Sharply] None of your lip, now!
At the new tone in his voice FAITH turns and visibly quails, like a dog that has been shown a whip.
MR MARCH. Inexpressibly painful!
YOUNG M. Ah! How would you like to be insulted in front of your girl? If you're a gentleman you'll tell him to leave the house. If he's got a warrant, let him produce it; if he hasn't, let him get out.
P. C. MAN. [To MR MARCH] You'll understand, sir, that my object in speakin' to you to-night was for the good of the girl. Strictly, I've gone a bit out of my way. If my job was to get men into trouble, as he says, I'd only to wait till he's got hold of her. These fellows, you know, are as cunning as lynxes and as impudent as the devil.
YOUNG M. Now, look here, if I get any more of this from you—I—I'll consult a lawyer.
JOHNNY. Fellows like you—
MR MARCH. Johnny!
P. C. MAN. Your son, sir?
YOUNG M. Yes; and wants to be where I am. But my girl knows better; don't you?
He gives FAITH a look which has a certain magnetism.
P. C. MAN. If we could have the Court cleared of ladies, sir, we might speak a little plainer.
MR MARCH. Joan!
But MRS MARCH does not vary her smiling immobility; FAITH draws alittle nearer to the YOUNG MAN. MARY turns to the fire.