JILL. A wagon of old Hornblower's pots passed while we were in the
yard. It's an omen.

MRS. H. Don't be foolish, Jill.

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.