[He hesitates at the door—returns and sits down. There is silence in the room. Holroyd sits with his chin in his hand. Mrs. Holroyd listens. The footsteps and voices of the two women die out. Then she closes the door. Holroyd begins to unlace his boots.
HOLROYD (ashamed yet defiant, withal anxious to apologize) Wheer's my slippers?
[Mrs. Holroyd sits on the sofa with face averted and does not answer.
HOLROYD
Dost hear? (He pulls off his boots, noisily, and begins to hunt under the sofa) I canna find the things. (No answer) Humph!—then I'll do be 'out 'em. (He stumps about in his stocking feet; going into the scullery, he brings out the loaf of bread; he returns into the scullery) Wheer's th' cheese? (No answer—suddenly) God blast it! (He hobbles into the kitchen) I've trod on that brokken basin, an' cut my foot open. (Mrs. Holroyd refuses to take any notice. He sits down and looks at his sole—pulls off his stocking and looks again) It's lamed me for life. (Mrs. Holroyd glances at the wound) Are 'na ter goin' ter get me öwt for it?
MRS. HOLROYD
Psh!
HOLROYD
Oh, a' right then. (He hops to the dresser, opens a drawer, and pulls out a white rag; he is about to tear it)
MRS. HOLROYD (snatching it from him)