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.