HILLCRIST. Nobody knows till they're under pretty heavy fire, Jill.
JILL. Except, of course, mother.
HILLCRIST. How do you mean—mother?
JILL. Mother reminds me of England according to herself—always right whatever she does.
HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Your mother it perhaps—the perfect woman.
JILL. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could call you perfect, Dodo. Besides, you've got gout.
HILLCRIST. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that bell.
JILL. [Crossing to the bell] Shall I tell you my definition of a gentleman? A man who gives the Hornblower his due. [She rings the bell] And I think mother ought to call on them. Rolf says old Hornblower resents it fearfully that she's never made a sign to Chloe the three years she's been here.
HILLCRIST. I don't interfere with your mother in such matters. She may go and call on the devil himself if she likes.
JILL. I know you're ever so much better than she is.