HILLCRIST. Well--er--I suppose you might say--a man who keeps his
form and doesn't let life scupper him out of his standards.

JILL. But suppose his standards are low?

HILLCRIST. [With some earnestness] I assume, of course, that he's
honest and tolerant, gentle to the weak, and not self-seeking.

JILL. Ah! self-seeking? But aren't we all, Dodo? I am.

HILLCRIST. [With a smile] You!

JILL. [Scornfully] Oh! yes--too young to know.

HILLCRIST. Nobody knows till they're under pretty heavy fire, Jill.

JILL. Except, of course, mother.

HILLCRIST. How do you mean--mother?

JILL. Mother reminds me of England according to herself--always
right whatever she does.

HILLCRIST. Ye-es. Your mother it perhaps--the perfect woman.

JILL. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could call you
perfect, Dodo. Besides, you've got gout.

HILLCRIST. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that bell.