Faith.  I don’t want your advice, father.

Bly.  I know parents are out of date; still, I’ve put up with a lot on your account, so gimme a bit of me own back.

Faith.  I don’t know whether I shall like this.  I’ve been shut up so long.  I want to see some life.

Bly.  Well, that’s natural.  But I want you to do well.  I suppose you’ll be comin’ ’ome to fetch your things to-night?

Faith.  Yes.

Bly.  I’ll have a flower for you.  What’d you like—­daffydils?

Faith.  No; one with a scent to it.

Bly.  I’ll ask at Mrs Bean’s round the corner.

     She’ll pick ’em out from what’s over.  Never ’ad much nose for a
     flower meself.  I often thought you’d like a flower when you was
     in prison.

Faith. [A little touched] Did you?  Did you really?

Bly.  Ah!  I suppose I’ve drunk more glasses over your bein’ in there than over anything that ever ’appened to me.  Why!  I couldn’t relish the war for it!  And I suppose you ’ad none to relish.  Well, it’s over.  So, put an ’eart into it.

Faith.  I’ll try.

Bly.  “There’s compensation for everything,” ’Aigel says.  At least, if it wasn’t ‘Aigel it was one o’ the others.  I’ll move on to the study now.  Ah!  He’s got some winders there lookin’ right over the country.  And a wonderful lot o’ books, if you feel inclined for a read one of these days.

Cook’s Voice.  Faith!

     Faith sets down the salt cellar in her hand, puts her tongue out a
     very little, and goes out into the hall.  Mr Bly is gathering up his
     pail and cloths when Mr March enters at the window.

Mr March.  So it’s fixed up, Mr Bly.

Bly. [Raising himself] I’d like to shake your ’and, sir. [They shake hands] It’s a great weight off my mind.

Mr March.  It’s rather a weight on my wife’s, I’m afraid.  But we must hope for the best.  The country wants rain, but—­I doubt if we shall get it with this Government.

Bly.  Ah!  We want the good old times-when you could depend on the seasons.  The further you look back the more dependable the times get; ’ave you noticed that, sir?

Mr March. [Suddenly] Suppose they’d hanged your daughter, Mr Bly.  What would you have done?

Bly.  Well, to be quite frank, I should ’ave got drunk on it.

Mr March.  Public opinion’s always in advance of the Law.  I think your daughter’s a most pathetic little figure.

Bly.  Her looks are against her.  I never found a man that didn’t.

Mr March. [A little disconcerted] Well, we’ll try and give her a good show here.