4
MRS. HOLROYD
[ACT I
She lifts out a white heap of sheets and other linen, setting it on the table; then she takes a woollen shirt in her hand.
Mrs. Holroyd (aloud, to herself)
- You know they ’re not dry even now, though it ’s been as fine as it has. (She spreads the shirt on the back of her rocking-chair, which she turns to the fire)
Voice (calling from outside)
- Well, have you got them dry?
- [Mrs. Holroyd starts up, turns and flings her hand in the direction of the open door, where appears a man in blue overalls, swarfed and greased. He carries a dinner-basket.
Mrs. Holroyd
- You—you—I don’t know what to call you! The idea of shouting at me like that—like the Evil One out of the darkness!
Blackmore
- I ought to have remembered your tender nerves. Shall I come in?
Mrs. Holroyd
- No—not for your impudence. But you ’re late, are n’t you?
Blackmore
- It ’s only just gone six. We electricians, you know, we ’re the gentlemen on a mine: ours is gentlemen’s work, But I ’ll bet Charles Holroyd was home before four.
Mrs. Holroyd (bitterly)
- Ay, and gone again before five.
