Mrs. Metherell. That's my towel when you've done with it. (_Takes it, then surprised._) Where did you get this from? Elsie. The bedroom. Mrs. Metherell. That's one of my best towels. It isn't out of Jack's room. Elsie. I've arranged the front bedroom for him. Mrs. Metherell (_angrily_). I'd have you to know that's my room. Elsie. The other is such a cheerless, poky little place. It's dark, there's no fireplace, no proper carpet, nothing but a camp-bed and a second-hand bookstall. Mrs. Metherell. It's good enough for him. Elsie. Nothing but the best is good enough for a man who plays football like Jack. Mrs. Metherell. Football's one thing. Home's another. He's at home here. Do you think he sleeps in the best bedroom? Elsie. He must have the best-lighted room just now. Mrs. Metherell. So I'm to turn out for him, am I? Elsie. That isn't asking very much. I don't believe you care for him at all. How can you sit at home when he's playing football? Mrs. Metherell. Custom's everything. (_Sitting in rocking-chair._) I'm used to my men being before the public. Jack's father was a public man--an undertaker, (_Edmund winces_) and I've known him have as many as six funerals on a Saturday afternoon, but I didn't go to the cemetery to see he buried them properly, and I reckon it's the same with Jack. He can kick a ball without my watching him. (_Changing tone._) And now perhaps you'll tell me what you mean by interfering in my house? Elsie (_to Edmund_). Haven't you told her, uncle? Edmund. Oh yes. I told her. Elsie (_smilingly sure of herself_). Well, Mrs. Metherell, will I do? (_Standing before her._) Mrs. Metherell (_still sitting_). You said yourself just now that nothing but the best is good enough for Jack, so you'll excuse my being particular. I've been asking your uncle about you and he tells me you're a lady, born and bred. Elsie. You mustn't blame me for my relations, Mrs. Metherell. Mrs. Metherell. Nay, I don't. Mine's a respectable family, but there's a Metherell doing time at this moment, and another to my certain knowledge who ought to be. But this is where it comes in. If you're going to be Jack's wife, you've to know your way about a house. Elsie (_agreeing_). Yes. Mrs. Metherell. Your father _'_ull keep a servant, I suppose. Elsie. Oh, but I do my share. Servants require a lot of management. Mrs. Metherell (_dryly_). I'll take your word for it. I never had any. And Jack _'_ull have none, either. Elsie. I didn't expect it. Mrs. Metherell (_graciously_). You may be handier than you look. I'll try. Those pots want washing. Let me see you shape. (_Elsie eagerly begins to put the used cups together._) There's a tray. (_Pointing to plate-rack._) The sink's in yonder. (_Pointing._) Edmund (_protesting_). Really, Mrs. Metherell---- (_He rises._) Elsie. It's all right, uncle. (_The tray is loaded and she lifts it._) In there, Mrs. Metherell? (_Starting to go._) Mrs. Metherell. Yes.