FAITH. You're just in a temper.
JOHNNY. Promise!
During this colloquy the MARCHES have been so profoundly uneasy that
MRS MARCH has poured out another glass of brandy.
MR MARCH. Johnny, the terms of the Armistice didn't include this sort of
thing. It was to be all open and above-board.
JOHNNY. Well, if you don't keep her, I shall clear out.
At this bombshell MRS MARCH rises.
MARY. Don't joke, Johnny! You'll do yourself an injury.
JOHNNY. And if I go, I go for good.
MR MARCH. Nonsense, Johnny! Don't carry a good thing too far!
JOHNNY. I mean it.
MRS MARCH. What will you live on?
JOHNNY. Not poetry.
MRS MARCH. What, then?
JOHNNY. Emigrate or go into the Police.
MR MARCH. Good Lord! [Going up to his wife--in a low voice] Let her
stay till Johnny's in his right mind.
FAITH. I don't want to stay.
JOHNNY. You shall!
MARY. Johnny, don't be a lunatic!
COOK enters, flustered.
COOK. Mr Bly, ma'am, come after his daughter.
MR MARCH. He can have her--he can have her!
COOK. Yes, sir. But, you see, he's--Well, there! He's cheerful.
MR MARCH. Let him come and take his daughter away.
But MR BLY has entered behind him. He has a fixed expression, and
speaks with a too perfect accuracy.
BLY. Did your two Cooks tell you I'm here?
MR MARCH. If you want your daughter, you can take her.
JOHNNY. Mr Bly, get out!
BLY.
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