MRS. H. Never! [At the window, looking out] Impossible! It would
ruin the place utterly; besides cutting us off from the Duke's. Oh,
no! Miss Mullins would never sell behind our backs.

HILLCRIST. Anyway I must stop his turning these people out.

Mrs. H. [With a little smile, almost contemptuous] You might have
known he'd do something of the sort. You will imagine people are
like yourself, Jack. You always ought to make Dawker have things in
black and white.

HILLCRIST. I said quite distinctly: "Of course you won't want to
disturb the tenancies; there's a great shortage of cottages."
Hornblower told me as distinctly that he wouldn't. What more do you
want?

Mrs. H. A man like that thinks of nothing but the short cut to his
own way. [Looking out of the window towards the rise] If he buys
the Centry and puts up chimneys, we simply couldn't stop here.

HILLCRIST. My father would turn in his grave.

MRS. H. It would have been more useful if he'd not dipped the
estate, and sold the Centry. This Hornblower hates us; he thinks we
turn up our noses at him.

HILLCRIST. As we do, Amy.

MRS. H. Who wouldn't? A man without traditions, who believes in
nothing but money and push.

HILLCRIST. Suppose he won't budge, can we do anything for the
Jackmans?

MRS. H. There are the two rooms Beaver used to have, over the
stables.

FELLOWS. Mr. Dawker, sir.

[DAWKERS is a short, square, rather red-faced terrier of a man,
in riding clothes and gaiters.]

HILLCRIST. Ah! Dawker, I've got gout again.

DAWKER. Very sorry, sir. How de do, ma'am?

HILLCRIST. Did you meet the Jackmans?

DAWKERS. Yeh.

[He hardly ever quite finishes a word, seeming to snap of their
tails.]

HILLCRIST. Then you heard?

DAWKER. [Nodding] Smart man, Hornblower; never lets grass grow.

HILLCRIST. Smart?

DAWKER. [Grinning] Don't do to underrate your neighbours.

MRS. H. A cad--I call him.

DAWKER. That's it, ma'am-got all the advantage.

HILLCRIST. Heard anything about the Centry, Dawker?

DAWKER. Hornblower wants to buy.

HILLCRIST. Miss Mullins would never sell, would she?

DAWKER. She wants to.

HILLCRIST. The deuce she does!

DAWKER. He won't stick at the price either.

MRS. H. What's it worth, Dawker?

DAWKER. Depends on what you want it for.

MRS. H. He wants it for spite; we want it for sentiment.

DAWKER. [Grinning] Worth what you like to give, then;