Mrs. Jones. [Slim, dark-eyed, and dark-haired; oval-faced, and with a smooth, soft, even voice; her manner patient, her way of talking quite impersonal; she wears a blue linen dress, and boots with holes.] It was nearly two last night before he come home, and he wasn’t himself.  He made me get up, and he knocked me about; he didn’t seem to know what he was saying or doing.  Of course I would leave him, but I’m really afraid of what he’d do to me.  He ’s such a violent man when he’s not himself.

Wheeler.  Why don’t you get him locked up?  You’ll never have any peace until you get him locked up.  If I were you I’d go to the police court tomorrow.  That’s what I would do.

Mrs. Jones.  Of course I ought to go, because he does treat me so badly when he’s not himself.  But you see, Bettina, he has a very hard time—­he ’s been out of work two months, and it preys upon his mind.  When he’s in work he behaves himself much better.  It’s when he’s out of work that he’s so violent.

Wheeler.  Well, if you won’t take any steps you ’ll never get rid of him.

Mrs. Jones.  Of course it’s very wearing to me; I don’t get my sleep at nights.  And it ’s not as if I were getting help from him, because I have to do for the children and all of us.  And he throws such dreadful things up at me, talks of my having men to follow me about.  Such a thing never happens; no man ever speaks to me.  And of course, it’s just the other way.  It’s what he does that’s wrong and makes me so unhappy.  And then he ‘s always threatenin’ to cut my throat if I leave him.  It’s all the drink, and things preying on his mind; he ’s not a bad man really.  Sometimes he’ll speak quite kind to me, but I’ve stood so much from him, I don’t feel it in me to speak kind back, but just keep myself to myself.  And he’s all right with the children too, except when he’s not himself.

Wheeler.  You mean when he’s drunk, the beauty.

Mrs. Jones.  Yes. [Without change of voice] There’s the young gentleman asleep on the sofa.

     [They both look silently at Jack.]

Mrs. Jones. [At last, in her soft voice.] He does n’t look quite himself.

Wheeler.  He’s a young limb, that’s what he is.  It ’s my belief he was tipsy last night, like your husband.  It ’s another kind of bein’ out of work that sets him to drink.  I ’ll go and tell Marlow.  This is his job.

     [She goes.]

     [Mrs. Jones, upon her knees, begins a gentle sweeping.]

Jack. [Waking.] Who’s there?  What is it?

Mrs. Jones.  It’s me, sir, Mrs. Jones.

Jack. [Sitting up and looking round.] Where is it—­what—­what time is it?

Mrs. Jones.  It’s getting on for nine o’clock, sir.

Jack.  For nine!  Why—­what! [Rising, and loosening his tongue; putting hands to his head, and staring hard at Mrs. Jones.] Look here, you, Mrs.——­Mrs. Jones—­don’t you say you caught me asleep here.