[She shakes hands with lord and lady William, drops the curtsey
     of her youth before Mr. Poulder, and goes out followed by little
     Aida, who is looking back at little Anne.]

Lemmy. [Turning suddenly] Aoh!  An’ jist one frog!  Next time yer build an ’ouse, daon’t forget—­it’s the foundytions as bears the wyte.

     [With a wink that gives way, to a last fascinated look at lady
     William, he passes out.  All gaze after them, except the press,
     who is tragically consulting his spiflicated notes.]

L. Anne. [Breaking away from Miss Stokes and rushing forward] Oh!  Mum! what was it?

CURTAIN

THE SKIN GAME

(A tragi-comedy)

“Who touches pitch shall be defiled”

CHARACTERS

Hillcrist ...............A Country Gentleman
Amy .....................His Wife
Jill ....................His Daughter
Dawker ..................His Agent
Hornblower ..............A Man Newly-Rich
Charles .................His Elder Son
Chloe ...................Wife to Charles
Rolf ....................His Younger Son
fellows .................Hillcrist’s Butler
Anna ....................Chloe’s Maid
the Jackmans ............Man and Wife

An auctioneer
A solicitor
two strangers

ACT I. HILLCRIST’S Study

Act II. 
     Scene I. A month later.  An Auction Room. 
     Scene II.  The same evening.  Chloe’s Boudoir.

ACT III

     Scene I. The following day.  Hillcrist’s Study.  Morning. 
     Scene II.  The Same.  Evening.

ACT I

Hillcrist’s study.  A pleasant room, with books in calf bindings, and signs that the Hillcrist’s have travelled, such as a large photograph of the Taj Mahal, of Table Mountain, and the Pyramids of Egypt.  A large bureau [stage Right], devoted to the business of a country estate.  Two foxes’ masks.  Flowers in bowls.  Deep armchairs.  A large French window open [at Back], with a lovely view of a slight rise of fields and trees in August sunlight.  A fine stone fireplace [stage Left].  A door [Left].  A door opposite [Right].  General colour effect—­stone, and cigar-leaf brown, with spots of bright colour.

[Hillcrist sits in a swivel chair at the bureau, busy with papers.  He has gout, and his left foot is encased accord:  He is a thin, dried-up man of about fifty-five, with a rather refined, rather kindly, and rather cranky countenance.  Close to him stands his very upstanding nineteen-year-old daughter Jill, with clubbed hair round a pretty, manly face.]

Jill.  You know, Dodo, it’s all pretty good rot in these days.