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on the fender,
smoking a cigarette and warming his back. He is a commonplace
looking young man, with a decided jaw, tall, neat, soulful, who has
been in the war and writes poetry. MARY is less ordinary; you cannot
tell exactly what is the matter with her. She too is tall, a little absent,
fair, and well-looking. She has a small china dog in her hand, taken

from the mantelpiece, and faces the audience. As the curtain rises she is
saying in her soft and pleasant voice: "Well, what is the matter with us
all, Johnny?"
JOHNNY. Stuck, as we were in the trenches--like china dogs. [He
points to the ornament in her hand.]
MR MARCH. [Into his newspaper] Damn these people!
MARY. If there isn't an ideal left, Johnny, it's no good pretending one.
JOHNNY. That's what I'm saying: Bankrupt!
MARY. What do you want?
MRS MARCH. [To herself] Mutton cutlets. Johnny, will you be in to
lunch? [JOHNNY shakes his head] Mary? [MARY nods] Geof?
MR MARCH. [Into his paper] Swine!
MRS MARCH. That'll be three. [To herself] Spinach.
JOHNNY. If you'd just missed being killed for three blooming years
for no spiritual result whatever, you'd want something to bite on, Mary.
MRS MARCH. [Jotting] Soap.
JOHNNY. What price the little and weak, now? Freedom and self-
determination, and all that?
MARY. Forty to one--no takers.
JOHNNY. It doesn't seem to worry you.
MARY. Well, what's the good?
JOHNNY. Oh, you're a looker on, Mary.
MR MARCH. [To his newspaper] Of all Godforsaken time-servers!
MARY is moved so lar as to turn and look over his shoulder a minute.
JOHNNY. Who?
MARY. Only the Old-Un.
MR MARCH. This is absolutely Prussian!
MRS MARCH. Soup, lobster, chicken salad. Go to Mrs Hunt's.
MR MARCH. And this fellow hasn't the nous to see that if ever there
were a moment when it would pay us to take risks, and be
generous--My hat! He ought to be--knighted! [Resumes his paper.]
JOHNNY. [Muttering] You see, even Dad can't suggest chivalry
without talking of payment for it. That shows how we've sunk.
MARY. [Contemptuously] Chivalry! Pouf! Chivalry was "off" even
before the war, Johnny. Who wants chivalry?
JOHNNY. Of all shallow-pated humbug--that sneering at chivalry's the
worst. Civilisation--such as we've got--is built on it.

MARY. [Airily] Then it's built on sand. [She sits beside him on the
fender.]
JOHNNY. Sneering and smartness! Pah!
MARY. [Roused] I'll tell you what, Johnny, it's mucking about with
chivalry that makes your poetry rotten. [JOHNNY seizes her arm and
twists it] Shut up--that hurts. [JOHNNY twists it more] You brute!
[JOHNNY lets her arm go.]
JOHNNY. Ha! So you don't mind taking advantage of the fact that you
can cheek me with impunity, because you're weaker. You've given the
whole show away, Mary. Abolish chivalry and I'll make you sit up.
MRS MARCH. What are you two quarrelling about? Will you bring
home cigarettes, Johnny--not Bogdogunov's Mamelukes--something
more Anglo- American.
JOHNNY. All right! D'you want any more illustrations, Mary?
MARY. Pig! [She has risen and stands rubbing her arm and recovering
her placidity, which is considerable.]
MRS MARCH. Geof, can you eat preserved peaches?
MR MARCH. Hell! What a policy! Um?
MRS MARCH. Can you eat preserved peaches?
MR MARCH. Yes. [To his paper] Making the country stink in the eyes
of the world!
MARY. Nostrils, Dad, nostrils.
MR MARCH wriggles, half hearing.
JOHNNY. [Muttering] Shallow idiots! Thinking we can do without
chivalry!
MRS MARCH. I'm doing my best to get a parlourmaid, to-day, Mary,
but these breakfast things won't clear themselves.
MARY. I'll clear them, Mother.
MRS MARCH. Good! [She gets up. At the door] Knitting silk.
She goes out.
JOHNNY. Mother hasn't an ounce of idealism. You might make her
see stars, but never in the singular.
MR MARCH. [To his paper] If God doesn't open the earth soon--
MARY. Is there anything special, Dad?
MR MARCH. This sulphurous government. [He drops the paper] Give
me a match, Mary.
As soon as the paper is out of his hands he becomes a different--an

affable man.
MARY. [Giving him a match] D'you mind writing in here this morning,
Dad? Your study hasn't been done. There's nobody but Cook.
MR MARCH. [Lighting his pipe] Anywhere.
He slews the armchair towards the fire.
MARY. I'll get your things, then.
She goes out.
JOHNNY. [Still on the fender] What do you say, Dad? Is civilisation
built on chivalry or on self-interest?
MR MARCH. The question is considerable, Johnny. I should say it was
built on contract, and jerry-built at that.
JOHNNY. Yes; but why do we keep contracts when we can break them
with advantage and impunity?
MR MARCH. But do we keep them?
JOHNNY. Well--say we do; otherwise you'll admit there isn't such a
thing as civilisation at all. But why