[The parlour maid and frost go out.  Enid pursing her lips, sits at the little table, taking up the baby’s frock.  The parlourmaid ushers in Madge Thomas and goes out; Madge stands by the door.]

Enid.  Come in.  What is it.  What have you come for, please?

Madge.  Brought a message from Mrs. Roberts.

Enid.  A message?  Yes.

Madge.  She asks you to look after her mother.

Enid.  I don’t understand.

Madge. [Sullenly.] That’s the message.

Enid.  But—­what—­why?

Madge.  Annie Roberts is dead.

     [There is a silence.]

Enid. [Horrified.] But it’s only a little more than an hour since I saw her.

Madge.  Of cold and hunger.

Enid. [Rising.] Oh! that’s not true! the poor thing’s heart——­
What makes you look at me like that?  I tried to help her.

Madge. [With suppressed savagery.] I thought you’d like to know.

Enid. [Passionately.] It’s so unjust!  Can’t you see that I want to help you all?

Madge.  I never harmed any one that had n’t harmed me first.

Enid. [Coldly.] What harm have I done you?  Why do you speak to me like that?

Madge. [With the bitterest intensity.] You come out of your comfort to spy on us!  A week of hunger, that’s what you want!

Enid. [Standing her ground.] Don’t talk nonsense!

Madge.  I saw her die; her hands were blue with the cold.

Enid. [With a movement of grief.] Oh! why wouldn’t she let me help her?  It’s such senseless pride!

Madge.  Pride’s better than nothing to keep your body warm.

Enid. [Passionately.] I won’t talk to you!  How can you tell what I feel?  It’s not my fault that I was born better off than you.

Madge.  We don’t want your money.

Enid.  You don’t understand, and you don’t want to; please to go away!

Madge. [Balefully.] You’ve killed her, for all your soft words, you and your father!

Enid. [With rage and emotion.] That’s wicked!  My father is suffering himself through this wretched strike.

Madge. [With sombre triumph.] Then tell him Mrs. Roberts is dead!  That ’ll make him better.

Enid.  Go away!

Madge.  When a person hurts us we get it back on them.

[She makes a sudden and swift movement towards Enid, fixing her eyes on the child’s frock lying across the little table.  Enid snatches the frock up, as though it were the child itself.  They stand a yard apart, crossing glances.]

Madge. [Pointing to the frock with a little smile.] Ah!  You felt that!  Lucky it’s her mother—­not her children—­you’ve to look after, is n’t it.  She won’t trouble you long!