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 round
     towards the door.

Mr March.  Now, take her away!  Cook, go and open the front door for Mr
Bly 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?