Hillcrist. Jill, come with me.

     [He turns towards door, Back.]

Jill.  I’m sorry, mother.  Only it is a skin game, isn’t it?

Mrs. H. You pride yourself on plain speech, Jill.  I pride myself on plain thought.  You will thank me afterwards that I can see realities.  I know we are better people than these Hornblowers.  Here we are going to stay, and they—­are not.

Jill. [Looking at her with a sort of unwilling admiration] Mother, you’re wonderful!

Hillcrist. Jill!

Jill.  Coming, Dodo.

     [She turns and runs to the door.  They go out.]

     [Mrs. Hillcrist, with a long sigh, draws herself up, fine and
     proud.]

Mrs. H. Dawker! [He comes to her.]

[I shall send him a note to-night, and word it so that he will be bound to come and see us to-marrow morning.  Will you be in the study just before eleven o’clock, with this gentleman?]

Dawker. [Nodding] We’re going to wire for his partner.  I’ll bring him too.  Can’t make too sure.

     [She goes firmly up the steps and out.]

Dawker. [To the Stranger, with a wink] The Squire’s squeamish—­too much of a gentleman.  But he don’t count.  The grey mare’s all right.  You wire to Henry.  I’m off to our solicitors.  We’ll make that old rhinoceros sell us back the Centry at a decent price.  These Hornblowers—­[Laying his finger on his nose] We’ve got ’em!

Curtain

SCENE II

CHLOE’s boudoir at half-past seven the same evening.  A pretty room.  No pictures on the walls, but two mirrors.  A screen and a luxurious couch an the fireplace side, stage Left.  A door rather Right of Centre Back; opening inwards.  A French window, Right forward:  A writing table, Right Back.  Electric light burning.

Chloe, in a tea-gown, is standing by the forward end of the sofa, very still, and very pale.  Her lips are parted, and her large eyes stare straight before them as if seeing ghosts:  The door is opened noiselessly and a woman’s face is seen.  It peers at Chloe, vanishes, and the door is closed.  Chloe raises her hands, covers her eyes with them, drops them with a quick gesture, and looks round her.  A knock.  With a swift movement she slides on to the sofa, and lies prostrate, with eyes closed.

Chloe. [Feebly] Come in!

     [Her Maid enters; a trim, contained figure of uncertain years,
     in a black dress, with the face which was peering in.]

Yes, Anna?

Anna.  Aren’t you going in to dinner, ma’am?

Chloe. [With closed eyes] No.

Anna.  Will you take anything here, ma’am?

Chloe.  I’d like a biscuit and a glass of champagne.