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.
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.