JILL. It's no good, Dodo. It made me ashamed. It's just as--as
caddish to insult people who haven't said a word, in your own house,
as it is to be--old Hornblower.

MRS. H. You don't know what you're talking about.

HILLCRIST. What's the matter with young Mrs. Hornblower?

MRS. H. Excuse me, I shall keep my thoughts to myself at present.

[She looks coldly at JILL, and goes out through the French
window.]

HILLCRIST. You've thoroughly upset your mother, Jill.

JILL. It's something Dawker's told her; I saw them. I don't like
Dawker, father, he's so common.

HILLCRIST. My dear, we can't all be uncommon. He's got lots of go,
You must apologise to your mother.

JILL. [Shaking-her clubbed hair] They'll make you do things you
don't approve of, Dodo, if you don't look out. Mother's fearfully
bitter when she gets her knife in. If old Hornblower's disgusting,
it's no reason we should be.

HILLCRIST. So you think I'm capable--that's nice, Jill!

JILL. No, no, darling! I only want to warn you solemnly that
mother'll tell you you're fighting fair, no matter what she and
Dawker do.

HILLCRIST. [Smiling] Jill, I don't think I ever saw you so
serious.

JILL. No. Because--[She swallows a lump in her throat] Well--I
was just beginning to enjoy, myself; and now--everything's going to
be bitter and beastly, with mother in that mood. That horrible old
man! Oh, Dodo! Don't let them make you horrid! You're such a
darling. How's your gout, ducky?

HILLCRIST. Better; lot better.

JILL. There, you see! That shows! It's going to be half-interesting
for you, but not for--us.

HILLCRIST. Look here, Jill--is there anything between you and young
what's-his-name--Rolf?

JILL. [Biting her lip] No. But--now it's all spoiled.

HILLCRIST. You can't expect me to regret that.

JILL. I don't mean any tosh about love's young dream; but I do like
being friends. I want to enjoy things, Dodo, and you can't do that
when everybody's on the hate. You're going to wallow in it, and so
shall I--oh! I know I shall!--we shall all wallow, and think of
nothing but "one for his nob."

HILLCRIST. Aren't you fond of your home?

JILL. Of course. I love it.

HILLCRIST. Well, you won't be able to live in it unless we stop
that ruffian. Chimneys and smoke, the trees cut down, piles of
pots. Every kind of abomination. There! [He points] Imagine!
[He points through the French window, as if