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.
BLY. [Filling his sponge] Question is: How far are you to give rein to
your disposition? When I was in Durban, Natal, I knew a man who had the
biggest disposition I ever come across. 'E struck 'is wife, 'e smoked
opium, 'e was a liar, 'e gave all the rein 'e could, and yet withal one
of the pleasantest men I ever met.
MR MARCH. Perhaps in giving rein he didn't strike you.
BLY. [With a big wipe, following his thought] He said to me once:
"Joe," he said, "if I was to hold meself in, I should be a devil.
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