JOHNNY. And you married father!
MRS MARCH. I did.
JOHNNY. Well, that girl is not to be chucked out; won't have her on my
chest.
MRS MARCH. That's why she's going, Johnny.
JOHNNY. She is not. Look at me!
MRS MARCH looks at him from across the dining-table, for he has
marched up to it, till they are staring at each other across the now
cleared rosewood.
MRS MARCH. How are you going to stop her?
JOHNNY. Oh, I'll stop her right enough. If I stuck it out in Hell, I
can stick it out in Highgate.
MRS MARCH. Johnny, listen. I've watched this girl; and I don't watch
what I want to see--like your father--I watch what is. She's not a hard
case--yet; but she will be.
JOHNNY. And why? Because all you matter-of-fact people make up your
minds to it. What earthly chance has she had?
MRS MARCH. She's a baggage. There are such things, you know, Johnny.
JOHNNY. She's a little creature who went down in the scrum and has been
kicked about ever since.
MRS MARCH. I'll give her money, if you'll keep her at arm's length.
JOHNNY. I call that revolting. What she wants is the human touch.
MRS MARCH. I've not a doubt of it.
JOHNNY rises in disgust.
Johnny, what is the use of wrapping the thing up in catchwords? Human
touch! A young man like you never saved a girl like her. It's as
fantastic as--as Tolstoi's "Resurrection."
JOHNNY. Tolstoi was the most truthful writer that ever lived.
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