Hornblower.  Catchwords—­sneers!  No; we’ll play what ye call a skin game, Hillcrist, without gloves on; we won’t spare each other.  Ye look out for yourselves, for, begod, after this morning I mean business.  And as for you, Dawker, ye sly dog, ye think yourself very clever; but I’ll have the Centry yet.  Come, Chearlie!

     [They go out, passing Jill, who is coming in again, in the
     doorway.]

Hillcrist. Well, Dawker?

Dawker. [Grinning] Safe for the moment.  The old lady’ll put it up to auction.  Couldn’t get her to budge from that.  Says she don’t want to be unneighbourly to either.  But, if you ask me, it’s money she smells!

Jill. [Advancing] Now, mother

Mrs. H. Well?

Jill.  Why did you insult her?

Mrs. H. I think I only asked you to take her out.

Jill.  Why?  Even if she is Old Combustion’s daughter-in-law?

Mrs. H. My dear Jill, allow me to judge the sort of acquaintances I wish to make. [She looks at Dawker.]

Jill.  She’s all right.  Lots of women powder and touch up their lips nowadays.  I think she’s rather a good sort; she was awfully upset.

Mrs. H. Too upset.

Jill.  Oh! don’t be so mysterious, mother.  If you know something, do spit it out!

Mrs. H. Do you wish me to—­er—­“spit it out,” Jack?

Hillcrist. Dawker, if you don’t mind——­

     [Dawker, with a nod, passes away out of the French window.]

Jill, be respectful, and don’t talk like a bargee.

Jill.  It’s no good, Dodo.  It made me ashamed.  It’s just as—­as caddish to insult people who haven’t said a word, in your own house, as it is to be—­old Hornblower.

Mrs. H. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Hillcrist. What’s the matter with young Mrs. Hornblower?

Mrs. H. Excuse me, I shall keep my thoughts to myself at present.

     [She looks coldly at Jill, and goes out through the French
     window.]

Hillcrist. You’ve thoroughly upset your mother, Jill.

Jill.  It’s something Dawker’s told her; I saw them.  I don’t like
Dawker, father, he’s so common.

Hillcrist. My dear, we can’t all be uncommon.  He’s got lots of go,
You must apologise to your mother.

Jill. [Shaking-her clubbed hair] They’ll make you do things you don’t approve of, Dodo, if you don’t look out.  Mother’s fearfully bitter when she gets her knife in.  If old Hornblower’s disgusting, it’s no reason we should be.

Hillcrist. So you think I’m capable—­that’s nice, Jill!

Jill.  No, no, darling!  I only want to warn you solemnly that mother’ll tell you you’re fighting fair, no matter what she and Dawker do.