Mrs. Roberts.  Yes, M’m; thank you, M’m.

Enid. [Looking at the sullen Madge as though requesting her departure.] Why did you send back the jelly?  I call that really wicked of you!

Mrs. Roberts.  Thank you, M’m, I’d no need for it.

Enid.  Of course!  It was Roberts’s doing, wasn’t it?  How can he let all this suffering go on amongst you?

Madge. [Suddenly.] What suffering?

Enid. [Surprised.] I beg your pardon!

Madge.  Who said there was suffering?

Mrs. Roberts.  Madge!

Madge. [Throwing her shawl over her head.] Please to let us keep ourselves to ourselves.  We don’t want you coming here and spying on us.

Enid. [Confronting her, but without rising.] I did n’t speak to you.

Madge. [In a low, fierce voice.] Keep your kind feelings to yourself.  You think you can come amongst us, but you’re mistaken.  Go back and tell the Manager that.

Enid. [Stonily.] This is not your house.

Madge. [Turning to the door.] No, it is not my house; keep clear of my house, Mrs. Underwood.

     [She goes out.  Enid taps her fingers on the table.]

Mrs. Roberts.  Please to forgive Madge Thomas, M’m; she’s a bit upset to-day.

     [A pause.]

Enid. [Looking at her.] Oh, I think they’re so stupid, all of them.

Mrs. Roberts. [With a faint smile].  Yes, M’m.

Enid.  Is Roberts out?

Mrs. Roberts.  Yes, M’m.

Enid.  It is his doing, that they don’t come to an agreement.  Now is n’t it, Annie?

Mrs. Roberts. [Softly, with her eyes on Enid, and moving the fingers of one hand continually on her breast.] They do say that your father, M’m——­

Enid.  My father’s getting an old man, and you know what old men are.

Mrs. Roberts.  I am sorry, M’m.

Enid. [More softly.] I don’t expect you to feel sorry, Annie.  I know it’s his fault as well as Roberts’s.

Mrs. Roberts.  I’m sorry for any one that gets old, M’m; it ’s dreadful to get old, and Mr. Anthony was such a fine old man, I always used to think.

Enid. [Impulsively.] He always liked you, don’t you remember?  Look here, Annie, what can I do?  I do so want to know.  You don’t get what you ought to have. [Going to the fire, she takes the kettle off, and looks for coals.] And you’re so naughty sending back the soup and things.

Mrs. Roberts. [With a faint smile.] Yes, M’m?

Enid. [Resentfully.] Why, you have n’t even got coals?

Mrs. Roberts.  If you please, M’m, to put the kettle on again; Roberts won’t have long for his tea when he comes in.  He’s got to meet the men at four.