Jill.  That’s only because we are, as mother would say, and they’re not—­yet.  But why not let them be?

Hillcrist. You can’t.

Jill.  Why?

Hillcrist. It takes generations to learn to live and let live,
Jill.  People like that take an ell when you give them an inch.

Jill.  But if you gave them the ell, they wouldn’t want the inch. 
Why should it all be such a skin game?

Hillcrist. Skin game?  Where do you get your lingo?

Jill.  Keep to the point, Dodo.

Hillcrist. Well, Jill, all life’s a struggle between people at different stages of development, in different positions, with different amounts of social influence and property.  And the only thing is to have rules of the game and keep them.  New people like the Hornblowers haven’t learnt those rules; their only rule is to get all they can.

Jill.  Darling, don’t prose.  They’re not half as bad as you think.

Hillcrist. Well, when I sold Hornblower Longmeadow and the cottages, I certainly found him all right.  All the same, he’s got the cloven hoof. [Warming up] His influence in Deepwater is thoroughly bad; those potteries of his are demoralising—­the whole atmosphere of the place is changing.  It was a thousand pities he ever came here and discovered that clay.  He’s brought in the modern cutthroat spirit.

Jill.  Cut our throat spirit, you mean.  What’s your definition of a gentleman, Dodo?

Hillcrist. [Uneasily] Can’t describe—­only feel it.

Jill.  Oh!  Try!

Hillcrist. Well—­er—­I suppose you might say—­a man who keeps his form and doesn’t let life scupper him out of his standards.

Jill.  But suppose his standards are low?

Hillcrist. [With some earnestness] I assume, of course, that he’s honest and tolerant, gentle to the weak, and not self-seeking.

Jill.  Ah! self-seeking?  But aren’t we all, Dodo?  I am.

Hillcrist. [With a smile] You!

Jill. [Scornfully] Oh! yes—­too young to know.

Hillcrist. Nobody knows till they’re under pretty heavy fire, Jill.

Jill.  Except, of course, mother.

Hillcrist. How do you mean—­mother?

Jill.  Mother reminds me of England according to herself—­always right whatever she does.

Hillcrist. Ye-es.  Your mother it perhaps—­the perfect woman.

Jill.  That’s what I was saying.  Now, no one could call you perfect, Dodo.  Besides, you’ve got gout.

Hillcrist. Yes; and I want Fellows.  Ring that bell.

Jill. [Crossing to the bell] Shall I tell you my definition of a gentleman?  A man who gives the Hornblower his due. [She rings the bell] And I think mother ought to call on them.  Rolf says old Hornblower resents it fearfully that she’s never made a sign to Chloe the three years she’s been here.