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.

Hillcrist. [Smiling] Jill, I don’t think I ever saw you so serious.

Jill.  No.  Because—­[She swallows a lump in her throat] Well—­I was just beginning to enjoy, myself; and now—­everything’s going to be bitter and beastly, with mother in that mood.  That horrible old man!  Oh, Dodo!  Don’t let them make you horrid!  You’re such a darling.  How’s your gout, ducky?

Hillcrist. Better; lot better.

Jill.  There, you see!  That shows!  It’s going to be half-interesting for you, but not for—­us.

Hillcrist. Look here, Jill—­is there anything between you and young what’s-his-name—­Rolf?

Jill. [Biting her lip] No.  But—­now it’s all spoiled.

Hillcrist. You can’t expect me to regret that.

Jill.  I don’t mean any tosh about love’s young dream; but I do like being friends.  I want to enjoy things, Dodo, and you can’t do that when everybody’s on the hate.  You’re going to wallow in it, and so shall I—­oh!  I know I shall!—­we shall all wallow, and think of nothing but “one for his nob.”