BLY. [Again responding to the appeal that he senses to his philosophical vein] Ah! but 'oo can see what our natures are? Why, I've known people that could see nothin' but theirselves and their own families, unless they was drunk. At my daughter's trial, I see right into the lawyers, judge and all. There she was, hub of the whole thing, and all they could see of her was 'ow far she affected 'em personally--one tryin' to get 'er guilty, the other tryin' to get 'er off, and the judge summin' 'er up cold-blooded. MR MARCH. But that's what they're paid for, Mr Bly. BLY. Ah! But which of 'em was thinkin' "'Ere's a little bit o' warm life on its own. 'Ere's a little dancin' creature. What's she feelin', wot's 'er complaint?"--impersonal-like. I like to see a man do a bit of speculatin', with his mind off of 'imself, for once. MR MARCH. "The man that hath not speculation in his soul." BLY. That's right, sir. When I see a mangy cat or a dog that's lost, or a fellow-creature down on his luck, I always try to put meself in his place. It's a weakness I've got. MR MARCH. [Warmly] A deuced good one. Shake-- He checks himself, but MR BLY has wiped his hand and extended it. While the shake is in progress MARY returns, and, having seen it to a safe conclusion, speaks. MARY. Coming, Dad? MR MARCH. Excuse me, Mr Bly, I must away. He goes towards the door, and BLY dips his sponge. MARY. [In a low voice] Well? MR MARCH. Mr Bly is like all the greater men I know--he can't listen. MARY. But you were shaking-- MR MARCH. Yes; it's a weakness we have--every three minutes. MARY. [Bubbling] Dad--Silly! MR MARCH. Very! As they go out MR BLY pauses in his labours to catch, as it were, a philosophical reflection. He resumes the wiping of a pane, while quietly, behind him, FAITH comes in with a tray. She is dressed now in lilac-coloured linen, without a cap, and looks prettier than ever. She puts the tray down on the sideboard with a clap that attracts her father's attention, and stands contemplating the debris on the table. BLY. Winders! There they are! Clean, dirty! All sorts--All round yer! Winders! FAITH. [With disgust] Food! BLY. Ah! Food and winders! That's life! FAITH. Eight times a day four times for them and four times for us. I hate food! She puts a chocolate into her mouth. BLY. 'Ave some philosophy. I might just as well hate me winders. FAITH. Well! She begins to clear. BLY. [Regarding her] Look 'ere, my girl! Don't you forget that there ain't many winders in London out o' which they look as philosophical as these here. Beggars can't be choosers. FAITH. [Sullenly] Oh! Don't go on at me! BLY. They spoiled your disposition in that place, I'm afraid. FAITH. Try it, and see what they do with yours. BLY. Well, I may come to it yet.