Charles.  Come along, out of the way of these people.

     [He jerks his head towards the Hillcrists.  Chloe gives a swift
     look down to the stage Right of the audience.]

Chloe.  No; I’m all right; it’s hotter there.

Charles. [To Rolf] Well, look after her—­I must go back.

[Rolf node.  Charles, slides bank to the door, with a glance at the Hillcrists, of whom Mrs. Hillcrist has been watching like a lynx.  He goes out, just as the solicitor, finishing, sits down.]

Auctioneer. [Rising and tapping] Now, gen’lemen, it’s not often a piece of land like this comes into the market.  What’s that? [To a friend in front of him] No better land in Deepwater—­that’s right, Mr. Spicer.  I know the village well, and a charming place it is; perfect locality, to be sure.  Now I don’t want to wirry you by singing the praises of this property; there it is—­well-watered, nicely timbered—­no reservation of the timber, gen’lemen—­no tenancy to hold you up; free to do what you like with it to-morrow.  You’ve got a jewel of a site there, too; perfect position for a house.  It lies between the Duke’s and Squire Hillcrist’s—­an emerald isle. [With his smile] No allusion to Ireland, gen’lemen—­perfect peace in the Centry.  Nothing like it in the county—­a gen’leman’s site, and you don’t get that offered you every day. [He looks down towards Hornblower, stage Left] Carries the mineral rights, and as you know, perhaps, there’s the very valuable Deepwater clay there.  What am I to start it at?  Can I say three thousand?  Well, anything you like to give me.  I’m sot particular.  Come now, you’ve got more time than me, I expect.  Two hundred acres of first-rate grazin’ and cornland, with a site for a residence unequalled in the county; and all the possibilities!  Well, what shall I say?

     [Bid from Spicer.]

Two thousand? [With his smile] That won’t hurt you, Mr. Spicer.  Why, it’s worth that to overlook the Duke.  For two thousand?

     [Bid from Hornblower, stage Left.]

And five.  Thank you, sir.  Two thousand five hundred bid.

     [To a friend just below him.]

Come, Mr. Sandy, don’t scratch your head over it.

     [Bid from Dawker, Stage Right.]

And five.  Three thousand bid for this desirable property.  Why, you’d think it wasn’t desirable.  Come along, gen’lemen.  A little spirit.

     [A alight pause.]

Jill.  Why can’t I see the bids, Dodo?

Hillcrist. The last was Dawker’s.

Auctioneer.  For three thousand. [Hornblower] Three thousand five hundred?  May I say—­four? [A bid from the centre] No, I’m not particular; I’ll take hundreds.  Three thousand six hundred bid. [Hornblower] And seven.  Three thousand seven hundred, and——­