Jack (_gently shaking her off_). It is for your sake, Elsie, not for his. His consent's nothing to me after this. My record's going to be clean. (_Exit Jack._) Austin (_rubbing his hands_). Ah! Splendid. Edmund, I've brought you down from town for nothing. The match is ours. Edmund (_drily_). Then I can devote my undivided attention to the problem of my niece. But why's the match yours? Austin. Metherell is kind enough to give it us. An injured player is a nuisance to his side--no use and only in the way. Elsie. You don't know Jack. Austin. Oh yes, I do. You think he's a hero. I know he's a fool. Elsie. Then he's an honest fool, and---- Austin. I haven't time to argue the point now. I want a word with the referee before the game recommences. (_Going._) Elsie. So Jack was right. You did bribe the referee! Austin. Elsie, if you don't want us all to starve, you'll keep a tight hold of your tongue. Leo. Starve! Elsie. Starve! What---- Austin. Oh, ask your uncle. Elsie. I haven't time. I'm going to Jack's home to see that all's prepared for him. Austin. Oh, go to---- Go where you like. Elsie. I usually do. (_Exit Austin._) Edmund. Now, Elsie, about this footballer. Elsie (_moving_). I shall be rather busy turning his bedroom into a hospital for the next hour, uncle. Edmund. You're to do nothing so compromising. Elsie (_scornfully_). Compromising! Edmund. If you insist on going, I shall come with you. Elsie. You will look funny in Elizabeth Street. Edmund. I prefer to look ridiculous than that you should look indiscreet. Leo (_at window, crossing_). There's the whistle. Come along, Flo. Florence. Yes. They're playing. (_Exeunt Florence and Leo._) Elsie. You mean to come? Edmund. I don't mean you to go alone. Elsie. I wish you were in London, uncle. Your intentions are so good. CURTAIN. ACT III _At 41 Elizabeth Street the combined kitchen and living-room opens directly to the street, the street door being centre, with the window next to it. Through the window the other side of the drab street is seen. A door leads to the stairs, while another gives access to the scullery. The room is fairly comfortable. A handsome presentation clock is on the mantel over the fireplace. The plate-rack is well furnished. Rocking-chair by fireplace. Sofa under window, behind which is a plant on a stand. Table round which three Old Women sit at tea. Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury, as visitors, wear outdoor clothes and bonnets, of which they have loosened the strings. Mrs. Metherell has grey hair, a small person, and an indomitable will. She is too hearty to be ill-natured, but she is mistress of her house and knows it. She wears her after-work dress of decent black. The remains of a substantial meal are on the table. Smoke-blackened kettle on fire._ Mrs. Wilmot (_sighing_). Eh, yes. Elizabeth Street isn't what it was. Mrs. Metherell. It's not the street, Amy, it's the people in it.