JOHNNY. Let her wait! You're not fit to go out to-night. MARY. Johnny! Really! You're not the girl's Friendly Society! JOHNNY. You none of you care a pin's head what becomes of her. Can't you see she's on the edge? The whistle is heard again, but fainter. FAITH. I'm not in prison now. JOHNNY. [Taking her by the arm] All right! I'll come with you. FAITH. [Recoiling] No. Voices are heard in the hall. MARY. Who's that with father? Johnny, for goodness' sake don't make us all ridiculous. MR MARCH'S voice is heard saying: "Your friend in here." He enters, followed by a reluctant young man in a dark suit, with dark hair and a pale square face, enlivened by strange, very living, dark, bull's eyes. MR MARCH. [To FAITH, who stands shrinking a little] I came on this--er --friend of yours outside; he's been waiting for you some time, he says. MRS MARCH. [To FAITH] You can go now. JOHNNY. [Suddenly, to the YOUNG MAN] Who are you? YOUNG M. Ask another! [To FAITH] Are you ready? JOHNNY. [Seeing red] No, she's not; and you'll just clear out. MR MARCH. Johnny! YOUNG M. What have you got to do with her? JOHNNY. Quit. YOUNG M. I'll quit with her, and not before. She's my girl. JOHNNY. Are you his girl? FAITH. Yes. MRS MARCH sits down again, and reaching out her left hand, mechanically draws to her the glass of brandy which her husband had poured out for himself and left undrunk. JOHNNY. Then why did you--[He is going to say: "Kiss me," but checks himself]--let me think you hadn't any friends? Who is this fellow? YOUNG M. A little more civility, please. JOHNNY. You look a blackguard, and I believe you are. MR MARCH. [With perfunctory authority] I really can't have this sort of thing in my house. Johnny, go upstairs; and you two, please go away. YOUNG M. [To JOHNNY] We know the sort of chap you are--takin' advantage of workin' girls. JOHNNY. That's a foul lie. Come into the garden and I'll prove it on your carcase. YOUNG M. All right! FAITH. No; he'll hurt you. He's been in the war. JOHNNY. [To the YOUNG MAN] You haven't, I'll bet. YOUNG M. I didn't come here to be slanged. JOHNNY. This poor girl is going to have a fair deal, and you're not going to give it her. I can see that with half an eye. YOUNG M. You'll see it with no eyes when I've done with you. JOHNNY. Come on, then. He goes up to the windows. MR MARCH. For God's sake, Johnny, stop this vulgar brawl! FAITH. [Suddenly] I'm not a "poor girl" and I won't be called one. I don't want any soft words. Why can't you let me be? [Pointing to JOHNNY] He talks wild. [JOHNNY clutches the edge of the writing-table] Thinks he can "rescue" me. I don't want to be rescued. I--[All the feeling of years rises to the surface now that the barrier has broken] --I want to be let alone. I've paid for everything I've done--a pound for every shilling's worth.