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 expecting him 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 the table, 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 friendly towards 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?
FAITH. "COSY."
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.
FAITH. I – I —
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.