Jill. [Impatiently] Well, what’s the good of it?  Life’s too short for rows, and too jolly!

Rolf.  Bravo!

Hornblower. [Who has shown a sign of weakening] Now, look here!  I will not have revolt in my family.  Ye’ll just have to learn that a man who’s worked as I have, who’s risen as I have, and who knows the world, is the proper judge of what’s right and wrong.  I’ll answer to God for me actions, and not to you young people.

Jill.  Poor God!

Hornblower. [Genuinely shocked] Ye blasphemous young thing! [To Rolf] And ye’re just as bad, ye young freethinker.  I won’t have it.

Hillcrist. [Who has come down, Right] Jill, I wish you would kindly not talk.

Jill.  I can’t help it.

Charles. [Putting his arm through Hornblower’s] Come along, father!  Deeds, not words.

Hornblower.  Ay!  Deeds!

     [Mrs. Hillcrist and DAWKERS have entered by the French window.]

Mrs. H. Quite right!

     [They all turn and look at her.]

Hornblower.  Ah!  So ye put your dog on to it. [He throws out his finger at DAWKERS] Very smart, that—­I give ye credit.

Mrs. H. [Pointing to Chloe, who has stood by herself, forgotten and uncomfortable throughout the scene] May I ask who this lady is?

     [Chloe turns round startled, and her vanity bag slips down her
     dress to the floor.]

Hornblower.  No, ma’am, ye may not, for ye know perfectly well.

Jill.  I brought her in, mother [She moves to CHLOE’s side.]

Mrs. H. Will you take her out again, then.

Hillcrist. Amy, have the goodness to remember——­

Mrs. H. That this is my house so far as ladies are concerned.

Jill.  Mother!

     [She looks astonished at Chloe, who, about to speak, does not,
     passing her eyes, with a queer, half-scarred expression, from
     Mrs. Hillcrist to Dawker.]

     [To Chloe] I’m awfully sorry.  Come on!

     [They go out, Left.  Rolf hurries after them.]

Charles.  You’ve insulted my wife.  Why?  What do you mean by it?

     [Mrs. Hillcrist simply smiles.]

Hillcrist. I apologise.  I regret extremely.  There is no reason why the ladies of your family or of mine should be involved in our quarrel.  For Heaven’s sake, let’s fight like gentlemen.

Hornblower.  Catchwords—­sneers!  No; we’ll play what ye call a skin game, Hillcrist, without gloves on; we won’t spare each other.  Ye look out for yourselves, for, begod, after this morning I mean business.  And as for you, Dawker, ye sly dog, ye think yourself very clever; but I’ll have the Centry yet.  Come, Chearlie!