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.
HILLCRIST. Can't blame her for getting what she can—it's human nature. Phew! I used to feel like this before a 'viva voce'. Who's that next to Dawker?
JILL. What a fish!
MRS. H. [To herself] Ah! yes.
[Her eyes slide round at CHLOE, silting motionless and rather sunk in her seat, slowly fanning herself with they particulars of the sale. Jack, go and offer her my smelling salts.]