HILLCRIST. You can't expect me to regret that.

JILL. I don't mean any tosh about love's young dream; but I do like
being friends. I want to enjoy things, Dodo, and you can't do that
when everybody's on the hate. You're going to wallow in it, and so
shall I--oh! I know I shall!--we shall all wallow, and think of
nothing but "one for his nob."

HILLCRIST. Aren't you fond of your home?

JILL. Of course. I love it.

HILLCRIST. Well, you won't be able to live in it unless we stop
that ruffian. Chimneys and smoke, the trees cut down, piles of
pots. Every kind of abomination. There! [He points] Imagine!
[He points through the French window, as if he could see those
chimneys rising and marring the beauty of the fields] I was born
here, and my father, and his, and his, and his. They loved those
fields, and those old trees. And this barbarian, with his
"improvement" schemes, forsooth! I learned to ride in the Centry
meadows--prettiest spring meadows in the world; I've climbed every
tree there. Why my father ever sold----! But who could have
imagined this? And come at a bad moment, when money's scarce.

JILL. [Cuddling his arm] Dodo!

HILLCRIST. Yes. But you don't love the place as I do, Jill. You
youngsters don't love anything, I sometimes think.

JILL. I do, Dodo, I do!