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.]