Elsie (_cordially_). Oh, you are talking sense this time. It's difficult, but I shall manage him. Edmund. Shall you? Elsie (_confidently_). Oh yes. I couldn't do it if he were as old as you, because at your age a man's in a groove and sticks in it till he dies. Jack's not a modern, but he's young enough to learn. It's hardly credible, but at present he believes in Ruskin and Carlyle and reads Browning. Well, you know, I can't have a husband with a taste for Victorianism. Austin. Then why have him at all? Elsie. It's a curable disease. Edmund. He reads Browning! Elsie. Yes, but you needn't worry about that. I shall make a modern of him all right. Edmund. Do you mean to tell me a footballer reads Browning? Elsie. He can't always be at football. Oh yes. And Plato, only not in the original. Edmund. Why, the man's a scholar. Elsie. Did you think he was illiterate? Edmund. I'm afraid I have underrated him. Still, that only proves him an estimable member of his class. It doesn't alter the fact that his class isn't yours. Elsie (_hotly_). Class! What do I care for class? Elemental passions sweep away class distinctions. Edmund. That's a high falutin' name for a flirtation with a footballer. Elsie. It's a name I thought you'd understand. Personally I'd say I've got the sex clutch on and other things don't matter. Any more shots, uncle? Edmund. You needn't flatter yourself you've talked me into consenting to this marriage. Elsie. Nobody asked you, sir, she said. Edmund (_angrily_). Nobody---- Elsie (_easily conversational_). Wouldn't it interest you to see how the game's going, uncle? Edmund (_relieved_). I think it would. But don't you think you've heard the last of me. Elsie (_sympathetically_). No, but you want time to think out a few more objections. Edmund. I am going purely out of desire to witness the match. (_Exit Edmund._) Elsie (_looking after him_). Poor dear. He tried his best. Austin (_half rising_). And I am going to try now. Elsie (_pushing him gently hack into chair and sitting on its arm_). Oh, I don't mind you. He tried like an outraged relation. You'll try like a pal. Austin. No. I'm going to be firm. Elsie. What a bore. Austin (_seriously_). You didn't expect me to be pleased about this, did you? Elsie (_pouting_). Why not, if I'm pleased? Jack isn't marrying you. Austin. Nor you, if I can help it. Elsie. But you can't help it, you know. Austin. Oh, I'm quite aware the stern parent isn't my game. But as pals, Elsie---- Elsie (_nestling up to him_). Yes, father, as pals. Austin. As goose to goose, it's not the thing. Now, frankly, is Jack Metherell up to our weight? Elsie. He's above it. Austin. Above it? Elsie. Certainly. The condescension's his. He's a better footballer than ever you were, and you were no fool at football. Austin. Football isn't everything, Elsie! Elsie. Well, you play a decent hand at Bridge, but that's not much. Your golf's rotten. What else do you do well?