st now.

CHLOE. [Unhappily acquiescent] Certainly! I'll go to the other
end.

[She moves to the Left, mounts the steps and sits down.]

[ROLF, looking in through the door, and seeing where she is,
joins her. MRS. HILLCRIST resettles herself a little further
in on the Right.]

ROLF. [Bending over to CHLOE, after a glance at MRS. HILLCRIST.]
Are you all right?

CHLOE. It's awfully hot.

[She fans herself wide the particulars of sale.]

ROLF. There's Dawker. I hate that chap!

CHLOE. Where?

ROLF. Down there; see?

[He points down to stage Right of the room.]

CHLOE. [Drawing back in her seat with a little gasp] Oh!

ROLF. [Not noticing] Who's that next him, looking up here?

CHLOE. I don't know.

[She has raised her auction programme suddenly, and sits
fanning herself, carefully screening her face.]

ROLE. [Looking at her] Don't you feel well? Shall I get you some
water? [He gets up at her nod.]

[As he reaches the door, HILLCRIST and JILL come in. HILLCRIST
passes him abstractedly with a nod, and sits down beside his
wife.]

JILL. [To ROLF] Come to see us turned out?

ROLF. [Emphatically] No. I'm looking after Chloe; she's not well.

JILL. [Glancing at her] Sorry. She needn't have come, I suppose?
[RALF deigns no answer, and goes out.]

[JILL glances at CHLOE, then at her parents talking in low
voices, and sits down next her father, who makes room for her.]

MRS. H. Can Dawker see you there, Jack?

[HILLCRIST nods.]

What's the time?

HILLCRIST. Three minutes to three.

JILL. Don't you feel beastly all down the backs of your legs.
Dodo?

HILLCRIST. Yes.

JILL. Do you, mother?

MRS. H. No.

JILL. A wagon of old Hornblower's pots passed while we were in the
yard. It's an omen.

MRS. H. Don't be foolish, Jill.

JILL. Look at the old brute! Dodo, hold my hand.

MRS. H. Make sure you've got a handkerchief, Jack.

HILLCRIST. I can't go beyond the six thousand; I shall have to
raise every penny on mortgage as it is. The estate simply won't
stand more, Amy.

[He feels in his breast pocket, and pulls up the edge of his
handkerchief.]

JILL. Oh! Look! There's Miss Mullins, at the back; just come in.
Isn't she a spidery old chip?

MRS. H. Come to gloat. Really, I think her not accepting your
offer is disgusting. Her impartiality is all humbug.

HILL