Charles.  Not got it.

Hornblower.  Not!

Charles.  I’d practically got her to say she’d sell at three thousand five hundred, when that fellow Dawker turned up.

Hornblower.  That bull-terrier of a chap!  Why, he was here a while ago.  Oh—­ho!  So that’s it!

Charles.  I heard him gallop up.  He came straight for the old lady, and got her away.  What he said I don’t know; but she came back looking wiser than an owl; said she’d think it over, thought she had other views.

Hornblower.  Did ye tell her she might have her price?

Charles.  Practically I did.

Hornblower.  Well?

Charles.  She thought it would be fairer to put it up to auction.  There were other enquiries.  Oh!  She’s a leery old bird—­reminds me of one of those pictures of Fate, don’t you know.

Hornblower.  Auction!  Well, if it’s not gone we’ll get it yet. 
That damned little Dawker!  I’ve had a row with Hillcrist.

Charles.  I thought so.

     [They are turning cautiously to look at Hillcrist, when Jill
     steps forward.]

Jill. [Flushed and determined] That’s not a bit sporting of you,
Mr. Hornblower.

     [At her words role comes forward too.]

Hornblower.  Ye should hear both sides before ye say that, missy.

Jill.  There isn’t another side to turning out the Jackmans after you’d promised.

Hornblower.  Oh! dear me, yes.  They don’t matter a row of gingerbread to the schemes I’ve got for betterin’ this neighbourhood.

Jill.  I had been standing up for you; now I won’t.

HOUNBLOWER.  Dear, dear!  What’ll become of me?

Jill.  I won’t say anything about the other thing because I think it’s beneath, dignity to notice it.  But to turn poor people out of their cottages is a shame.

Hornblower.  Hoity me!

Rolf. [Suddenly] You haven’t been doing that, father?

Charles.  Shut up, Rolf!

Hornblower. [Turning on Rolf] Ha!  Here’s a league o’ Youth!  My young whipper-snapper, keep your mouth shut and leave it to your elders to know what’s right.

     [Under the weight of this rejoinder Rolf stands biting his
     lips.  Then he throws his head up.]

Rolf.  I hate it!

Hornblower. [With real venom] Oh!  Ye hate it?  Ye can get out of my house, then.

Jill.  Free speech, Mr. Hornblower; don’t be violent.

Hornblower.  Ye’re right, young lady.  Ye can stay in my house,
Rolf, and learn manners.  Come, Chearlie!

Jill. [Quite softly] Mr. Hornblower!

Hillcrist. [From the window] Jill!