Austin (_pushing her aside, and rising_). Really, Elsie! Elsie (_still on the arm_). Don't say "really." Tell me. Austin. I hope I'm fairly good at being a gentleman. Elsie. Doing, I said, not being. Austin (_humbly_). I--er--play the piano, you know. Elsie. Yes, but you're not a musician within the meaning of the Act. You play the piano like a third-rate professional, too good for a public-house and not good enough for the concert platform, whereas Jack's football makes him a certainty for the England team in any international match. You may have more money than he has---- Austin (_glancing at window_). I'm not even sure of that. Elsie (_triumphantly_). Then you've absolutely nothing on your side except a stupid and obsolete class prejudice. Austin. Upon my word, Elsie---- Elsie (_coming to him, gently_). Yes, I know I'm crushing, dear. Austin. You're pitiless. Youth always is. Elsie. Not always, father, but you shouldn't try to argue about love. Austin. I was arguing about marriage. Elsie (_away from him_). I suppose at your age it's natural to be cynical about marriage and pretend it's nothing to do with love. And then of course when you were young it used to be the fashion to mock at marriage. We take our duties to society seriously to-day. Austin. Are you proposing to marry Jack from a sense of duty? Elsie (_wistfully_). You'll be awfully proud of your grandchildren, father. They'll be most beautiful babies. Austin. You look ahead, young woman. Elsie. It's just as well I do. You're still worrying about a thing I settled weeks ago. Austin. Then why didn't you tell me weeks ago? Elsie. I hadn't told Jack then. (_Wells opens door, and enters with Jack, whose arm is in a splint and sling._) Wells (_entering_). You'd better go straight home now. Never mind about the match. I want you to avoid excitement for a awhile. Jack. The match doesn't excite me. Wells. Then you can leave it without regret. Jack (_indicating his costume_). In these? Wells. I'll go round to the dressing-room and bring your clothes here if you'll trust me not to pick your pockets. Jack. There's nothing to pick. I've more sense than to take money into a dressing-tent. Austin. Can't you trust the others, Metherell? Jack (_drily_). Yes, so long as they're not tempted. Wells. I won't be long. (_Exit._) Elsie (_watching Wells resentfully till he goes_). Did he hurt you much, Jack? Jack. Not to speak of. (_Austin watches her scornfully._) Elsie. Oh, you're brave. But you shall come to no more harm. I'll see you home safely. Austin (_sarcastically, indicating door of the ambulance-room_). You'll find cotton wool in there. Elsie. What for? Austin. To wrap him up in. Elsie. Don't be spiteful, father. Austin. Good heavens, girl, a broken arm is nothing. (_Jack sits wearily._) Elsie. Except that the arm happens to be Jack's. Austin. The civilized world will gasp at the great event.