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.