CURTAIN. ACT II A fortnight later in the MARCH'S dining-room; a day of violent April showers. Lunch is over and the table littered with, remains-- twelve baskets full. MR MARCH and MARY have lingered. MR MARCH is standing by the hearth where a fire is burning, filling a fountain pen. MARY sits at the table opposite, pecking at a walnut. MR MARCH. [Examining his fingers] What it is to have an inky present! Suffer with me, Mary! MARY. "Weep ye no more, sad Fountains! Why need ye flow so fast?" MR MARCH. [Pocketing his pen] Coming with me to the British Museum? I want to have a look at the Assyrian reliefs. MARY. Dad, have you noticed Johnny? MR MARCH. I have. MARY. Then only Mother hasn't. MR MARCH. I've always found your mother extremely good at seeming not to notice things, Mary. MARY. Faith! She's got on very fast this fortnight. MR MARCH. The glad eye, Mary. I got it that first morning. MARY. You, Dad? MR MARCH. No, no! Johnny got it, and I got him getting it. MARY. What are you going to do about it? MR MARCH. What does one do with a glad eye that belongs to some one else? MARY. [Laughing] No. But, seriously, Dad, Johnny's not like you and me. Why not speak to Mr Bly? MR MARCH. Mr Bly's eyes are not glad. MARY. Dad! Do be serious! Johnny's capable of anything except a sense of humour. MR MARCH. The girl's past makes it impossible to say anything to her. MARY. Well, I warn you. Johnny's very queer just now; he's in the "lose the world to save your soul" mood. It really is too bad of that girl. After all, we did what most people wouldn't. MR MARCH. Come! Get your hat on, Mary, or we shan't make the Tube before the next shower. MARY. [Going to the door] Something must be done. MR MARCH. As you say, something--Ah! Mr Bly! MR BLY, in precisely the same case as a fortnight ago, with his pail and cloths, is coming in. BLY. Afternoon, sir! Shall I be disturbing you if I do the winders here? MR MARCH. Not at all. MR BLY crosses to the windows. MARY. [Pointing to MR BLY's back] Try! BLY. Showery, sir. MR MARCH. Ah! BLY. Very tryin' for winders. [Resting] My daughter givin' satisfaction, I hope? MR MARCH. [With difficulty] Er--in her work, I believe, coming on well. But the question is, Mr Bly, do--er--any of us ever really give satisfaction except to ourselves? BLY. [Taking it as an invitation to his philosophical vein] Ah! that's one as goes to the roots of 'uman nature. There's a lot of disposition in all of us. And what I always say is: One man's disposition is another man's indisposition. MR MARCH. By George! Just hits the mark.