ghout 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!

[They go out, passing JILL, who is coming in again, in the
doorway.]

HILLCRIST. Well, Dawker?

DAWKER. [Grinning] Safe for the moment. The old lady'll put it up
to auction. Couldn't get her to budge from that. Says she don't
want to be unneighbourly to either. But, if you ask me, it's money
she smells!

JILL. [Advancing] Now, mother

MRS. H. Well?

JILL. Why did you insult her?

MRS. H. I think I only asked you to take her out.

JILL. Why? Even if she is Old Combustion's daughter-in-law?

MRS. H. My dear Jill, allow me to judge the sort of acquaintances I
wish to make. [She looks at DAWKER.]

JILL. She's all right. Lots of women powder and touch up their
lips nowadays. I think she's rather a good sort; she was awfully
upset.

MRS. H. Too upset.

JILL. Oh! don't be so mysterious, mother. If you know something,
do spit it out!

MRS. H. Do you wish me to--er--"spit it out," Jack?

HILLCRIST. Dawker, if you don't mind----

[DAWKER, with a nod, passes away out of the French window.]

Jill, be respectful, and don't talk like a bargee.