Tain't as if she'd
been follerin' her instincts; why, she missed that baby something crool.
MR MARCH. Of course, human life--even an infant's----
BLY. I know you've got to 'ave a close time for it. But when you come
to think how they take 'uman life in Injia and Ireland, and all those
other places, it seems 'ard to come down like a cartload o' bricks on a
bit of a girl that's been carried away by a moment's abiration.
MR MARCH. [Who is reading the cuttings] H'm! What hypocrites we are!
BLY. Ah! And 'oo can tell 'oo's the father? She never give us his
name. I think the better of 'er for that.
MR MARCH. Shake hands, Mr Bly. So do I. [BLY wipes his hand, and MR
MARCH shakes it] Loyalty's loyalty--especially when we men benefit by
it.
BLY. That's right, sir.
MARY has returned with FAITH BLY, who stands demure and pretty on
the far side of the table, her face an embodiment of the pathetic
watchful prison faculty of adapting itself to whatever may be best
for its owner at the moment. At this moment it is obviously best
for her to look at the ground, and yet to take in the faces of MR
MARCH and MARY without their taking her face in.
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