JACK. Her idea of sense mayn't be the same as yours.
ELSIE. It probably won't. It's all right, Jack. I've had practice in handling parents.
JACK. I've seen a bit of it, too. You shan't treat mother that way. If we're to marry, Elsie—
ELSIE. If we're to marry!
JACK. My mother's first with me. I take my orders from her and you'll just have to do the same.
(Enter Mrs. Metherell. She has an apron on which she wipes her hands and then takes it off, hanging up behind door.)
MRS. METHERELL. So you've broken your arm, I hear.
JACK (his attitude is that of a weak-willed child. He almost cowers before her). Yes, mother.
MRS. METHERELL. Wasn't there work enough with a flitting without fetching and carrying for you? Who's going to break the coals now?
ELSIE. Mrs. Metherell!