Mrs. H. Stop them then.  I see your husband down there with his father.

Chloe.  I—­I have tried.

Mrs. H. [Looking at her] Oh!  I suppose such men don’t pay attention to what women ask them.

Chloe. [With a flash of spirit] I’m fond of my husband.  I——­

Mrs. H. [Looking at her steadily] I don’t quite know why you spoke to me.

Chloe. [With a sort of pathetic sullenness] I only thought perhaps you’d like to treat me as a human being.

Mrs. H. Really, if you don’t mind, I should like to be left alone just now.

Chloe. [Unhappily acquiescent] Certainly!  I’ll go to the other end.

     [She moves to the Left, mounts the steps and sits down.]

     [Rolf, looking in through the door, and seeing where she is,
     joins her.  Mrs. Hillcrist resettles herself a little further
     in on the Right.]

Rolf. [Bending over to Chloe, after a glance at Mrs. Hillcrist.] Are you all right?

Chloe.  It’s awfully hot.

     [She fans herself wide the particulars of sale.]

Rolf.  There’s Dawker.  I hate that chap!

Chloe.  Where?

Rolf.  Down there; see?

     [He points down to stage Right of the room.]

Chloe. [Drawing back in her seat with a little gasp] Oh!

Rolf. [Not noticing] Who’s that next him, looking up here?

Chloe.  I don’t know.

     [She has raised her auction programme suddenly, and sits
     fanning herself, carefully screening her face.]

Role. [Looking at her] Don’t you feel well?  Shall I get you some water? [He gets up at her nod.]

     [As he reaches the door, Hillcrist and Jill come in.  Hillcrist
     passes him abstractedly with a nod, and sits down beside his
     wife.]

Jill. [To Rolf] Come to see us turned out?

Rolf. [Emphatically] No.  I’m looking after Chloe; she’s not well.

Jill. [Glancing at her] Sorry.  She needn’t have come, I suppose?
     [RALF deigns no answer, and goes out.]

     [Jill glances at Chloe, then at her parents talking in low
     voices, and sits down next her father, who makes room for her.]

Mrs. H. Can Dawker see you there, Jack?

     [Hillcrist nods.]

What’s the time?

Hillcrist. Three minutes to three.

Jill.  Don’t you feel beastly all down the backs of your legs. 
Dodo?

Hillcrist. Yes.

Jill.  Do you, mother?

Mrs. H. No.

Jill.  A wagon of old Hornblower’s pots passed while we were in the yard.  It’s an omen.