Mrs. Metherell (_closing door calmly_). Yes. There was a special out. They get papers out for anything nowadays. Elsie (_indignantly_). You take it very easily. Mrs. Metherell. He'll be looked after. There's a doctor on the ground. Edmund (_politely awkward_). Perhaps I ought to introduce myself, Mrs. Metherell. My name is Whitworth--Mr. Austin Whitworth's brother. This is Miss Whitworth. Mrs. Metherell (_with some anxiety_). Is Jack hurt worse? Elsie (_gravely_). Not that we _know_ of. Mrs. Wilmot (_rising_). I think we'd best be going. Mrs. Metherell. No. It's all right. Mrs. Norbury (_rising and tying bonnet-strings_), I can see we're not wanted. We'll be seeing you again before you flit to Birchester. Mrs. Metherell (_by door with them_). Many a time. We don't go yet. (_Opening door._) Mrs. Wilmot. Good-bye. Mrs. Metherell. Good-bye. (_Exeunt Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury. Mrs. Metherell closes door and turns to Elsie._) Now, what is it? If it's bad news I can stand it. Elsie. Is Jack's bed prepared? Mrs. Metherell (_righteously indignant_). Jack's bed was made at eight o'clock this morning. Do you take me for a slut? Elsie. Oh yes, but he'll need special nursing, and the room--which is his room? (_Looking at doors left and right._) Mrs. Metherell (_drily_). His room's upstairs. Elsie. I'm going to see that it's right. Mrs. Metherell. His room's my job. Elsie. Yes, yes. I know. But I must make sure. Don't you realize he's gone on playing with a broken arm? Mrs. Metherell. He was always a fool. But he's not so soft as to take to his bed for a damaged arm. Elsie (_wildly_). Anything may have happened. Complications. Fever. I'm going to his room. Which is it, please? Mrs. Metherell (_guarding the door_). You're not going. Elsie. I am. Please don't be stupid, Mrs. Metherell. Edmund. Elsie! Mrs. Metherell. Do you think I'll have a girl I've never set eyes on before ferreting round my house? Elsie. But--oh, you tell her, uncle. (_Darts past Mrs. Metherell and exit._) Mrs. Metherell (_calling after her_). Here, you come back. Cheek! Edmund. I think perhaps in the circumstances, Mrs. Metherell---- Mrs. Metherell (_with the door handle in her hand_). What circumstances? Edmund. Don't you know about my niece? Mrs. Metherell. I know she's a forward hussy, like most young girls to-day. That's all I know. Edmund. Then I must explain. Mrs. Metherell (_glancing off_). You'd better. Edmund. You see, she and your son are engaged to be married. Mrs. Metherell (_pausing, astonished, then closing door_). It's the first I've heard of it. Edmund (_pleased to find her hostile_). Perhaps I ought rather to say they think they're engaged. Mrs. Metherell. No. You oughtn't. Jack doesn't think he's tied to any woman till he's told me first and got my leave. Edmund (_delighted_). Ah, now that's quite splendid, Mrs. Metherell. I'm glad to find that you agree with me. Mrs. Metherell. In what? Edmund. In opposing the engagement.