Mrs. Metherell. Why do you? Edmund (_easily_). Well, on grounds, shall we say, of general unsuitability. Mrs. Metherell. I don't oppose. (_Sitting in rocking-chair._) (_Edmund remains standing._) Edmund. I understood---- Mrs. Metherell. I don't know owt about the girl. She's made a bad start with me, but she's excited and I'll give fair play. She may be good enough for Jack. I cannot tell you yet. What makes you think she isn't? Edmund. I didn't exactly think that. Mrs. Metherell. What did you think? Out with it. You're her uncle, you know more about the girl than I can. Edmund. Well, the fact is I don't consider she would be a suitable wife for your son. Mrs. Metherell. That's what you said before. I want to know why not. Has she a temper? Edmund (_on his dignity_). Certainly not. Mrs. Metherell. Flirts then? Not steady? Extravagant? Edmund. No, no. Mrs. Metherell. Well, is she deformed or does she drink? Edmund. Good heavens, woman, no. Mrs. Metherell. If you won't tell me what's wrong with her, I must find out for myself. Edmund. There is nothing wrong with her. Mrs. Metherell. Then, where's your objection? Edmund. My objection, stated explicitly, is---- (_Hesitating._) Mrs. Metherell. Yes? Go on. Edmund. I find it rather difficult to explain to you. Mrs. Metherell. I've a thick skin. Edmund (_desperately_). My niece's training and upbringing do not make her a fit wife for your son, Mrs. Metherell. Mrs. Metherell. Did you make a mess of her upbringing? Edmund. No, but---- Mrs. Metherell. How did you bring her up? Edmund. As a lady. Mrs. Metherell. Then she's handicapped for life. But I have seen some grow out of it. (_Enter Elsie. She has a towel over her arm._) Elsie. Mrs. Metherell, will you come upstairs a minute? Mrs. Metherell. What for? Elsie. We ought to have hot water ready and I can't find the bath-room. Mrs. Metherell. You'd have a job to find one in Elizabeth Street. Elsie (_blankly_). How do you get hot water? Mrs. Metherell (_drily_). You heat it. (_Edmund stands, looking on._) Elsie (_crossing to fireplace and making for kettle_). Then I'll take this. Mrs. Metherell (_rising and getting kettle first_). That's for his tea. (_Glancing at clock, kettle in hand._) I'll make it too. He always comes in hungry from a match. (_She replaces kettle, takes tea-pot from table, empties the used tea-leaves behind the fire, fills generously from canister on mantel and makes tea, replacing kettle and leaving tea-pot on the hob._) Elsie. Oh, what have you got for him? He'll need nourishing. Mrs. Metherell. There's a bit of steak-pie in the cupboard left over from dinner. He'll have it cold. Elsie. But meat is so indigestible with tea, and he's an invalid. (_Edmund sits on sofa._) Mrs. Metherell. Eh, stop moithering, lass. You don't know owt about it. (_Suddenly noticing._) What's that over your arm? Elsie. Oh, I'm sorry. It was upstairs.