JILL. There isn't any. We're all out, for our own. And why not?
ROLF. By jove, you have got——
JILL. Cynical? Your father's motto—"Every man for himself."
That's the winner—hands down. Goodbye!
ROLF. Jill! Jill!
JILL. [Putting her hands behind her back, hums]—
"If auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne"——
ROLF. Don't!
[With a pained gesture he goes out towards Left, through the
French window.]
[JILL, who has broken off the song, stands with her hands
clenched and her lips quivering.]
[FELLOWS enters Left.]
FELLOWS. Mr. Dawker, Miss, and two gentlemen.