JILL. Pass, enemy! And all's ill!
[ROLF passes through the window, and retrieves the vanity bag from the floor where CHLOE dropped it, then again takes his stand against the Left lintel of the French window.]
ROLF. It's not going to make any difference, is it?
JILL. You know it is.
ROLF. Sins of the fathers.
JILL. Unto the third and fourth generations. What sin has my father committed?
ROLF. None, in a way; only, I've often told you I don't see why you should treat us as outsiders. We don't like it.
JILL. Well, you shouldn't be, then; I mean, he shouldn't be.
ROLF. Father's just as human as your father; he's wrapped up in us, and all his "getting on" is for us. Would you like to be treated as your mother treated Chloe? Your mother's set the stroke for the other big-wigs about here; nobody calls on Chloe. And why not? Why not? I think it's contemptible to bar people just because they're new, as you call it, and have to make their position instead of having it left them.
JILL. It's not because they're new, it's because—if your father behaved like a gentleman, he'd be treated like one.