MRS MARCH. Well, then, Cook will show you where things are kept, and how to lay the table and that. Your wages will be thirty until we see where we are. Every other Sunday, and Thursday afternoon. What about dresses?

FAITH. [Looking at her dress] I've only got this--I had it before, of course, it hasn't been worn.

MRS MARCH. Very neat. But I meant for the house. You've no money, I suppose?

FAITH. Only one pound thirteen, ma'am.

MRS MARCH. We shall have to find you some dresses, then. Cook will take you to-morrow to Needham's. You needn't wear a cap unless you like.

Well, I hope you'll get on. I'll leave you with Cook now.

After one look at the girl, who is standing motionless, she goes out.

FAITH. [With a jerk, as if coming out of plaster of Paris] She's never been in prison!

COOK. [Comfortably] Well, my dear, we can't all of us go everywhere, 'owever 'ard we try!

She is standing back to the dresser, and turns to it, opening the right-hand drawer.

COOK. Now, 'ere's the wine. The master likes 'is gla.s.s. And 'ere's the spirits in the tantaliser 'tisn't ever kept locked, in case Master Johnny should bring a friend in. Have you noticed Master Johnny? [FAITH nods]

Ah! He's a dear boy; and wonderful high-principled since he's been in the war. He'll come to me sometimes and say: "Cook, we're all going to the devil!" They think 'ighly of 'im as a poet. He spoke up for you beautiful.

FAITH. Oh! He spoke up for me?

COOK. Well, of course they had to talk you over.

FAITH. I wonder if they think I've got feelings.

COOK. [Regarding her moody, pretty face] Why! We all have feelin's!

FAITH. Not below three hundred a year.

COOK. [Scandalised] Dear, dear! Where were you educated?

FAITH. I wasn't.

COOK. Tt! Well--it's wonderful what a change there is in girls since my young days [Pulling out a drawer] Here's the napkins. You change the master's every day at least because of his moustache and the others every two days, but always clean ones Sundays. Did you keep Sundays in there?

FAITH. [Smiling] Yes. Longer chapel.

COOK. It'll be a nice change for you, here. They don't go to Church; they're agnosticals. [Patting her shoulder] How old are you?

FAITH. Twenty.

COOK. Think of that--and such a life! Now, dearie, I'm your friend.

Let the present bury the past--as the sayin' is. Forget all about yourself, and you'll be a different girl in no time.

FAITH. Do you want to be a different woman?

COOK is taken flat aback by so sudden a revelation of the pharisaism of which she has not been conscious.

COOK. Well! You are sharp! [Opening another dresser drawer] Here's the vinegar! And here's the sweets, and [rather anxiously] you mustn't eat them.

FAITH. I wasn't in for theft.

COOK. [Shocked at such rudimentary exposure of her natural misgivings]

No, no! But girls have appet.i.tes.

FAITH. They didn't get much chance where I've been.

COOK. Ah! You must tell me all about it. Did you have adventures?

FAITH. There isn't such a thing in a prison.

COOK. You don't say! Why, in the books they're escapin' all the time.

But books is books; I've always said so. How were the men?

FAITH. Never saw a man--only a chaplain.

COOK. Dear, dear! They must be quite fresh to you, then! How long was it?

FAITH. Two years.

COOK. And never a day out? What did you do all the time? Did they learn you anything?

FAITH. Weaving. That's why I hate it.

COOK. Tell me about your poor little baby. I'm sure you meant it for the best.

FAITH. [Sardonically] Yes; I was afraid they'd make it a ward in Chancery.

COOK. Oh! dear--what things do come into your head! Why! No one can take a baby from its mother.

FAITH. Except the Law.

COOK. Tt! Tt! Well! Here's the pickled onions. Miss Mary loves 'em!

Now then, let me see you lay the cloth.

She takes a tablecloth out, hands it to FAITH, and while the girl begins to unfold the cloth she crosses to the service shutter.

And here's where we pa.s.s the dishes through into the pantry.

The door is opened, and MRS MARCH'S voice says: "Cook--a minute!"

[Preparing to go] Salt cellars one at each corner--four, and the peppers.

[From the door] Now the decanters. Oh! you'll soon get on. [MRS MARCH "Cook!"] Yes, ma'am.

She goes. FAITH, left alone, stands motionless, biting her pretty lip, her eyes mutinous. Hearing footsteps, she looks up. MR BLY, with his pail and cloths, appears outside.

BLY. [Preparing to work, while FAITH prepares to set the salt cellars]