Auctioneer. [Tapping the table] Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I’ve only one property to offer you to-day, No. 1, The Centry, Deepwater.  The second on the particulars has been withdrawn.  The third that’s Bidcot, desirable freehold mansion and farmlands in the Parish of Kenway—­we shall have to deal with next week.  I shall be happy to sell it you then with out reservation. [He looks again through the particulars in his hand, giving the audience time to readjust themselves to his statements] Now, gen’lemen, as I say, I’ve only the one property to sell.  Freehold No. 1—­all that very desirable corn and stock-rearing and parklike residential land known as the Centry, Deepwater, unique property an A.1. chance to an A.1. audience. [With his smile] Ought to make the price of the three we thought we had.  Now you won’t mind listening to the conditions of sale; Mr. Blinkard’ll read ’em, and they won’t wirry you, they’re very short.

     [He sits down and gives two little tape on the table.]

[The solicitor rises and reads the conditions of sale in a voice which no one practically can hear.  Just as he begins to read these conditions of sale, Charles Hornblower enters at back.  He stands a moment, glancing round at the Hillcrist and twirling his moustache, then moves along to his wife and touches her.]

Charles.  Chloe, aren’t you well?

     [In the start which she gives, her face is fully revealed to
     the audience.]

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