BLY. This Mr March--he's like all these novel-writers--thinks 'e knows 'uman nature, but of course 'e don't. Still, I can talk to 'im--got an open mind, and hates the Gover'ment. That's the two great things. Mrs March, so far as I see, 'as got her head screwed on much tighter. FAITH. She has. BLY. What's the young man like? He's a long feller. FAITH. Johnny? [With a shrug and a little smile] Johnny. BLY. Well, that gives a very good idea of him. They say 'es a poet; does 'e leave 'em about? FAITH. I've seen one or two. BLY. What's their tone? FAITH. All about the condition of the world; and the moon. BLY. Ah! Depressin'. And the young lady? FAITH shrugs her shoulders. Um--'ts what I thought. She 'asn't moved much with the times. She thinks she 'as, but she 'asn't. Well, they seem a pleasant family. Leave you to yourself. 'Ow's Cook? FAITH. Not much company. BLY. More body than mind? Still, you get out, don't you? FAITH. [With a slow smile] Yes. [She gives a sudden little twirl, and puts her hands up to her hair before the mirror] My afternoon to-day. It's fine in the streets, after-being in there. BLY. Well! Don't follow your instincts too much, that's all! I must get on to the drawin' room now. There's a shower comin'. [Philosophically] It's 'ardly worth while to do these winders. You clean 'em, and they're dirty again in no time. It's like life. And people talk o' progress. What a sooperstition! Of course there ain't progress; it's a world-without-end affair. You've got to make up your mind to it, and not be discouraged. All this depression comes from 'avin' 'igh 'opes. 'Ave low 'opes, and you'll be all right. He takes up his pail and cloths and moves out through the windows. FAITH puts another chocolate into her mouth, and taking up a flower, twirls round with it held to her nose, and looks at herself in the glass over the hearth. She is still looking at herself when she sees in the mirror a reflection of JOHNNY, who has come in. Her face grows just a little scared, as if she had caught the eye of a warder peering through the peep-hole of her cell door, then brazens, and slowly sweetens as she turns round to him. JOHNNY. Sorry! [He has a pipe in his hand and wears a Norfolk jacket] Fond of flowers? FAITH. Yes. [She puts back the flower] Ever so! JOHNNY. Stick to it. Put it in your hair; it'll look jolly. How do you like it here? FAITH. It's quiet. JOHNNY. Ha! I wonder if you've got the feeling I have. We've both had hell, you know; I had three years of it, out there, and you've had three years of it here. The feeling that you can't catch up; can't live fast enough to get even. FAITH nods. Nothing's big enough; nothing's worth while enough--is it? FAITH. I don't know. I know I'd like to bite. She draws her lips back.