[Tentatively] I'm a little afraid my wife would feel--
BLY. You see, in this weavin' shop--all the girls 'ave 'ad to be in
trouble, otherwise they wouldn't take 'em. [Apologetically towards MARY]
It's a kind of a disorderly 'ouse without the disorders. Excusin' the
young lady's presence.
MARY. Oh! You needn't mind me, Mr Bly.
MR MARCH. And so you want her to come here? H'm!
BLY. Well I remember when she was a little bit of a thing--no higher
than my knee--[He holds out his hand.]
MR MARCH. [Suddenly moved] My God! yes. They've all been that. [To
MARY] Where's your mother?
MARY. Gone to Mrs Hunt's. Suppose she's engaged one, Dad?
MR MARCH. Well, it's only a month's wages.
MARY. [Softly] She won't like it.
MR MARCH. Well, let's see her, Mr Bly; let's see her, if you don't mind.
BLY. Oh, I don't mind, sir, and she won't neither; she's used to bein'
inspected by now. Why! she 'ad her bumps gone over just before she came
out!
MR MARCH. [Touched on the raw again] H'm! Too bad! Mary, go and fetch
her.
MARY, with a doubting smile, goes out. [Rising] You might give me
the details of that trial, Mr Bly. I'll see if I can't write
something that'll make people sit up. That's the way to send Youth
to hell! How can a child who's had a rope round her neck--!
BLY. [Who has been fumbling in his pocket, produces some yellow
paper-cuttings clipped together] Here's her references--the whole
literature of the case.
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