e other, then blocks him off and engages him in
conversation. CHARLES has gone up to his father, who has
remained maliciously still, where he delivered his last speech.
CHLOE and ROLF stand awkwardly waiting between the fireplace
and the door.]

HORNBLOWER. Well, Chearlie?

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