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been
good-lookin'--it'd never 'eve 'appened."
During this speech MARY has come in with a tray, to clear the
breakfast, and stands unnoticed at the dining-table, arrested by the
curious words of MR BLY.
MR MARCH. Your wife might not have thought that you were wholly
the cause, Mr Bly.
BLY. Ah! My wife. She's passed on. But Faith--that's my girl's
name--she never was like 'er mother; there's no 'eredity in 'er on that
side.
MR MARCH. What sort of girl is she?
BLY. One for colour--likes a bit o' music--likes a dance, and a flower.
MARY. [Interrupting softly] Dad, I was going to clear, but I'll come

back later.
MR MARCH. Come here and listen to this! Here's a story to get your
blood up! How old was the baby, Mr Bly?
BLY. Two days--'ardly worth mentionin'. They say she 'ad the
'ighstrikes after--an' when she comes to she says: "I've saved my baby's
life." An' that's true enough when you come to think what that sort o'
baby goes through as a rule; dragged up by somebody else's hand, or
took away by the Law. What can a workin' girl do with a baby born
under the rose, as they call it? Wonderful the difference money makes
when it comes to bein' outside the Law.
MR MARCH. Right you are, Mr Bly. God's on the side of the big
battalions.
BLY. Ah! Religion! [His eyes roll philosophically] Did you ever read
'Aigel?
MR MARCH. Hegel, or Haekel?
BLY. Yes; with an aitch. There's a balance abart 'im that I like. There's
no doubt the Christian religion went too far. Turn the other cheek!
What oh! An' this Anti-Christ, Neesha, what came in with the war--he
went too far in the other direction. Neither of 'em practical men. You've
got to strike a balance, and foller it.
MR MARCH. Balance! Not much balance about us. We just run about
and jump Jim Crow.
BLY. [With a perfunctory wipe] That's right; we 'aven't got a faith
these days. But what's the use of tellin' the Englishman to act like an
angel. He ain't either an angel or a blond beast. He's between the two,
an 'ermumphradite. Take my daughter----If I was a blond beast, I'd turn
'er out to starve; if I was an angel, I'd starve meself to learn her the
piano. I don't do either. Why? Becos my instincts tells me not.
MR MARCH. Yes, but my doubt is whether our instincts at this
moment of the world's history are leading us up or down.
BLY. What is up and what is down? Can you answer me that? Is it up
or down to get so soft that you can't take care of yourself?
MR MARCH. Down.
BLY. Well, is it up or down to get so 'ard that you can't take care of
others?
MR MARCH. Down.
BLY. Well, there you are!

MARCH. Then our instincts are taking us down?
BLY. Nao. They're strikin' a balance, unbeknownst, all the time.
MR MARCH. You're a philosopher, Mr Bly.
BLY. [Modestly] Well, I do a bit in that line, too. In my opinion Nature
made the individual believe he's goin' to live after'e's dead just to keep
'im livin' while 'es alive--otherwise he'd 'a died out.
MR MARCH. Quite a thought--quite a thought!
BLY. But I go one better than Nature. Follow your instincts is my
motto.
MR MARCH. Excuse me, Mr Bly, I think Nature got hold of that
before you.
BLY. [Slightly chilled] Well, I'm keepin' you.
MR MARCH. Not at all. You're a believer in conscience, or the little
voice within. When my son was very small, his mother asked him once
if he didn't hear a little voice within, telling him what was right. [MR
MARCH touches his diaphragm] And he said "I often hear little voices
in here, but they never say anything." [MR BLY cannot laugh, but he
smiles] Mary, Johnny must have been awfully like the Government.
BLY. As a matter of fact, I've got my daughter here--in obeyance.
MR MARCH. Where? I didn't catch.
BLY. In the kitchen. Your Cook told me you couldn't get hold of an
'ouse parlour-maid. So I thought it was just a chance--you bein'
broadminded.
MR MARCH. Oh! I see. What would your mother say, Mary?
MARY. Mother would say: "Has she had experience?"
BLY. I've told you about her experience.
MR MARCH. Yes, but--as a parlour-maid.
BLY. Well! She can do hair. [Observing the smile exchanged between
MR MARCH and MARY] And she's quite handy with a plate.
MR MARCH. [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