him, biting her lips, but he is quite
absorbed.]

AUCTIONEER. Nine thousand for this astounding property. Why, the
Duke would pay that if he realised he'd be overlooked. Now, Sir?
[To HORNBLOWER. No response]. Just a little raise on that. [No
response.] For nine thousand. The Centry, Deepwater, for nine
thousand. Once--[Taps] Twice----[Taps].

JILL. [Under her breath] Ours!

A VOICE. [From far back in the centre] And five hundred.

AUCTIONEER. [Surprised and throwing out his arms towards the voice]
And five hundred. For nine thousand five hundred. May I have
yours, sir? [He looks at HORNBLOWER. No response.]

[The SOLICITOR speaks to him. MRS. H. [Whispering] It must
be the Duke again.]

HILLCRIST. [Passing his hand over his brow] That's stopped him,
anyway.

AUCTIONEER. [Looking at HILLCRIST] For nine thousand five hundred?
[HILLCRIST shakes his head.] Once more. The Centry, Deepwater, for
nine thousand five hundred. Once--[Taps] Twice--[Taps] [He pauses
and looks again at HORNBLOWER and HILLCRIST] For the last time--at
nine thousand five hundred. [Taps] [With a look towards the
bidder] Mr. Smalley. Well! [With great satisfaction] That's
that! No more to-day, gen'lemen.

[The AUCTIONEER and SOLICITOR busy themselves. The room begins
to empty.]

MRS. H. Smalley? Smalley? Is that the Duke's agent? Jack!

HILLCRIST. [Coming out of a sort of coma, after the excitement he
has been going through] What! What!

JILL. Oh, Dodo! How splendidly you stuck it!

HILLCRIST. Phew! What a squeak! I was clean out of my depth. A
mercy the Duke chipped in again.

MRS. H. [Looking at ROLF and CHLOE, who are standing up as if about
to go] Take care; they can hear you. Find DAWKER, Jack.

[Below, the AUCTIONEER and SOLICITOR take up their papers, and
move out Left.]

[HILLCRIST stretches himself, standing up, as if to throw off
the strain. The door behind is opened, and HORNBLOWER
appears.]

HORNBLOWER. Ye ran me up a pretty price. Ye bid very pluckily,
Hillcrist. But ye didn't quite get my measure.

HILLCRIST. Oh! It was my nine thousand the Duke capped. Thank
God, the Centry's gone to a gentleman!

HORNBLOWER. The Duke? [He laughs] No, the Gentry's not gone to a
gentleman, nor to a fool. It's gone to me.

HILLCRIST. What!

HOUNBLOWER. I'm sorry for ye; ye're not fit to manage these things.
Well, i