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.
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