PIKE. But you can't; I'm not going to let you.

ETHEL. I throw your interference to the winds. I shall absolutely disregard it. I shall marry without your consent.

PIKE [looking at her steadily]. Do you think they'd let you?

ETHEL [in same tone]. I think you'll let me [laughing], especially after this terrible letter.

PIKE. By-the-way, did you finish it?

[ETHEL looks at the letter, which she has continued to hold in her hand.]

ETHEL. I think so. [Turns the page.] No—it says "over."

[She turns the sheet—looks at it attentively for a moment—looks up, casts a quick glance of astonishment at PIKE.]

PIKE. Well, read it, please!

ETHEL. It appears to concern a matter quite personal to yourself.

[Embarrassed, assuming carelessness. Turns toward left as if to leave, replacing the letter in the envelope.]

PIKE [advancing to her, smiling]. I don't think I've got any secrets.

ETHEL [coldly]. Please remember, I have not read anything on the last page.

PIKE. Well, neither have I.

[Reaching his hand for the letter.]

ETHEL [more embarrassed]. Oh!

[She drops the letter on the bench.]

[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from envelope. She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once. PIKE, taking the letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her. At this she is flustered and starts, but halts at sound of the "Fishermen's Song" in the distance. The sunset is deepening to golden red; the "Fishermen's Song" begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are heard together.]

ETHEL. Listen: those are the fishermen coming home.

[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]

PIKE [as the voices cease to be heard]. It's mighty pretty, but it's kind of foreign and lonesome, too. [With a sad half-chuckle.] I'd rather hear something that sounded more like home. [A growing tremulousness in his voice.] I expect you've about forgot everything like that, haven't you?

ETHEL [gently]. Yes.

PIKE. Seems funny, now; but out on the ocean, coming here, I kept kind of looking forward to hearing you sing. I knew how high your pa had you educated in music, and, like the old fool I was, I kept thinking you'd sing for me some evening—"Sweet Genevieve" mebbe. You know it—don't you?

ETHEL [slowly]. "Sweet Genevieve?" I used to—but it's rather old-fashioned and common, isn't it?

PIKE. I expect so; I reckon mebbe that's the reason I like it so much.

[With an apologetic and pathetic laugh.]

Yes'm, it's my favorite. I couldn't—I couldn't get you to sing it for me before I go back home—could I?

ETHEL. I—I think not.

[She looks at him thoughtfully, then goes slowly into the hotel.]

[PIKE sighs, and begins to read the last page of the letter.]

PIKE [reading]. "I am sorry old man Simpson's daughter thinks of buying a title. Somehow I have a notion that that may hit you, Dan.

[Poignant dismay and awe are expressed in his voice as he continues.]

"I haven't forgotten how you always kept that picture of her on your desk. The old man thought so much of you I had an idea he hoped she'd come back some day and marry a man from home."

I don't wonder she said she hadn't read it!

[His face begins to light with radiant amazement.]

But she had—and she didn't go away—that is, not right away!

[LORD HAWCASTLE and HORACE enter from the hotel.]

HORACE [speaking as they enter]. But, Lord Hawcastle, Ethel says Mr. Pike positively refuses.

HAWCASTLE. Leave him to me. Within ten minutes he will be as meek as a nun.

[HORACE goes into the hotel.]

My dear Pike, there is a certain question—

PIKE [in his mildest tone]. I don't want to seem rough with you, but I meant what I said.

HAWCASTLE. Imagining I did not mean that question—

PIKE. Then it's all right.

HAWCASTLE. Late this afternoon I developed a great anxiety concerning the penalty prescribed by Italian law for those unfortunate and impulsive individuals who connive at the escape or concealment—[he speaks with significant emphasis and a glance at the hotel, where lights begin to appear in the windows]—of certain other unfortunates who may be, to speak vulgarly, wanted—by the police.

PIKE [coolly]. You're anxious about that, are you?

HAWCASTLE. So deeply that I ascertained the penalty for it. You may confirm my information by appealing to the nearest carabiniere—strange to say, many of them are very near. The minimum penalty for one whose kind heart has thus betrayed him—[he turns up sharply toward the lighted windows of hotel, then sharply again to PIKE, his voice lifting]—is two years' imprisonment, and Italian prisons, I am credibly informed, are quite ferociously unpleasant.

PIKE [gently]. Well, being in jail any place ain't much like an Elks' carnival.

HAWCASTLE. There would be no escape, even for a citizen of your admirable country, if his complicity were established, especially if he happened to be—as it were—caught in the act!

PIKE [grimly]. Talk plain; talk plain.

HAWCASTLE. My dear young friend, imagine that a badly wanted man appears upon the pergola here and makes an appeal of I know not what nature to one of your fellow-countrymen, who—for the purposes of argument—is at work upon this car. Say that the too-amiable American conceals the fugitive under the automobile, and afterward, with the connivance of a friend, deceives the officers of the law and shelters the criminal, say in a room of that lower suite yonder.

[His voice shows growing excitement as a man's shadow appears on the shade of the window nearest the door.]

Imagine, for instance, that the shadow which at this moment appears on the curtain were that of the wanted man—then, would you not agree that a moderate and reasonable request of your fellow-countryman might be acceded to?

PIKE [swallowing painfully]. What would be the nature of that request?

HAWCASTLE. It would concern a certain alliance; might concern a certain settlement.

PIKE. If the request were refused, what would the consequences be?

HAWCASTLE. Two years, at least, for the American, and the friend who had been his accessory. Altogether I should consider it a disastrous situation.

PIKE [thoughtfully]. Yes; looks like it.

HAWCASTLE [with sharp significance]. If this fellow-countryman of yours were assured that the law would be made to take its course if a favorable answer were not received—say, by ten o'clock to-night—what, in your opinion, would his answer be?

PIKE [plaintively]. Well, it would all depend upon which of my countrymen you caught. If it depended on the one I know best, he'd tell you he'd see you in hell first!

[The two remain staring fixedly at each other as the curtain slowly descends.]

END OF THE SECOND ACT



THE THIRD ACT

SCENE: A handsome private salon in the hotel the same evening. There are cabinets against the walls, buhl tables, luxurious tapestried chairs, etc. At back, double doors, wide open, disclose a brilliantly lit conservatory and hall with palms and oleanders in bloom. On the left a heavily curtained window looks out upon the garden; on the right is a closed door. Unseen, an orchestra is playing an aria from "Pagliacci."

The rise of the curtain discloses PIKE sitting in a dejected attitude in an arm-chair. He wears a black tie, collar and linen as before, black trousers, a white waistcoat, cut rather low, and a black frock-coat—"Western statesman" style—not fashionably cut, but well-fitting and graceful.

MARIANO passes through the conservatory at back bearing a coffee-tray. LADY CREECH, in an evening gown of black velvet and lace, follows with stately tread. HORACE, in evening clothes, follows, with MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY on his arm; she is in a handsome, very Parisian, decollete dress. They are deep in tender conversation.

ETHEL follows, on the arm of ALMERIC. She wears a pretty evening gown, ALMERIC in evening clothes; her head is bent, her eyes cast down.

A valet de chambre enters the salon from the hall. He touches an electric button on wall near door. RIBIERE comes quickly and noiselessly from the room to the right. They stand bowing as VASILI enters through the conservatory. Valet immediately closes the doors. VASILI wears an overcoat trimmed with sables, a silk hat, evening clothes, and white gloves; order ribbon in his button-hole.

PIKE [as VASILI enters]. I'm mighty glad you've come—I've been waiting.

VASILI [to RIBIERE, and speaking in undertone]. You have telegraphed for the information?

RIBIERE. Yes, sir.

[Valet, with coat, hat, etc., goes out, followed by RIBIERE.]

VASILI. I have dined with an old tutor of mine. Once every year I come here to do that.

[Valet returns with vodka and cigarettes, which he places on a table, immediately withdrawing.]

VASILI [with a keen glance at PIKE]. And you; I suppose you dined with the charming young lady, your ward, and her brother, as you expected?

PIKE [turning away sadly]. Oh no, they've got friends of their own here.

VASILI. So I have observed.

[Sips vodka.]

PIKE. Oh, I don't mind their not asking me.

[With an assumption of cheerfulness.]

Fact is, these friends of hers are trying to get me to do something I can't do—

VASILI. You need not tell me that, my friend. I have both eyes and ears; I understand.

PIKE [troubled, coming near him]. I wish you understood the rest, because it ain't easy for me to tell you. Doc, I'm afraid I've got you into a pretty bad hole.

VASILI [smiling]. Ah, that I fear I do not understand.

PIKE [remorsefully]. I'm afraid I have. You and Ivanoff and me—all three of us. This Hawcastle knows, and he knows it as well as I know you're sittin' in that chair, that we've got that poor fellow in yonder.

[Pointing to the door on the right.]

VASILI. Surely you can trust Lord Hawcastle not to mention it. He must know that the consequences for you, as well as for me, would be, to say the least, disastrous. Surely you made that clear to him.

PIKE [grimly]. No; he made it clear to me. Two years in jail is the minimum, and if I don't make up my mind by ten o'clock [VASILI looks at his watch] to do what he wants me to do—

VASILI. What does he want you to do?

PIKE. The young lady's father trusted me to look after her, and if I won't promise to let her pay seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for that—well, you've seen it around here, haven't you—

VASILI. I have observed it—that is, if you refer to the son of Lord Hawcastle.

PIKE. Well, if I don't consent to do that, I reckon Ivanoff has to go back to Siberia and you and I to jail.

VASILI. He threatens that?

PIKE. He'll do that!

VASILI [looking at him sharply]. What do you mean to do?

PIKE. There wouldn't be any trouble about it if it was only me. That would make it easy. They could land me for two years [swallowing painfully] or twenty. What makes it so hard is that I can't do what they want, even to let you and Ivanoff out. It ain't my money. All I can do is to ask you to forgive me, and warn you to get away before they come down on me. This feller's got me, Doc. Don't you see how it stands? Ivanoff can't get away—

VASILI. No; I think he can't.

PIKE. They've got this militia all around the place.

VASILI. I passed through the cordon of carabiniere as I came in.

PIKE. [urgently]. But you could get away, Doc. Up to ten o'clock you can come and go as you choose.

VASILI [rising]. So can you. You have not thought of that?

PIKE. No; and I won't think of it. But as for you—

VASILI. As for me [rings bell near door]—I shall go!

PIKE. That's part of the load off my mind. I can't bear to think of the rest of it. I haven't known how to tell that poor fellow in there.

[Valet enters.]

VASILI [to valet, indicating the door on the right]. Appellez le Monsieur la.

[Valet goes to the door, opens it, bowing slightly to IVANOFF, who appears. Valet withdraws.]

[IVANOFF is very pale and haggard looking, but his clothes have been mended and neatly brushed. He comes in slowly and quietly.]

VASILI [in the tone of a superior]. You may come in, Ivanoff. Some unexpected difficulties have arisen. Your presence here has been discovered by persons who wish evil to this gentleman who has protected you. He can do nothing further to save you unless he betrays a trust which has been left to him.

[IVANOFF swallows painfully, and looks pitifully from VASILI to PIKE.]

PIKE [coming down to IVANOFF, standing before him humbly]. It's the truth, old man. I can't do it.

[IVANOFF'S head falls forward on his chest.]

IVANOFF [in a low voice]. I thank you for what you have tried to do for me.

[Gives PIKE his hand. PIKE turns away.]

VASILI. You have until ten o'clock. [Valet appears in the doorway.]

Mon chapeau et pardessus.

[Exit valet.]

In the meantime my friend believes Naples a safe place for me.

[Valet returns with his coat, hat, and gloves.]

And so, auf weidersehn.

[Dismisses the valet with a gesture.]

PIKE [going to him and shaking hands heartily]. Good-bye, Doc, and God bless you!

VASILI. To our next meeting.

[Exit briskly through the upper doors. As they close behind him, IVANOFF'S manner changes. He goes rapidly to a table, picks up the cigarettes, which are in a large silver open box, and touches the bottle of vodka significantly.]

IVANOFF. I thought so—Russian!

PIKE. What!

IVANOFF. That man, your friend, who calls himself Groellerhagen, is not a German—he is a Russian—not only that, he is a Russian noble. I see it in a hundred ways that you cannot.

PIKE. Whatever he is, he helped us this afternoon. I'd trust him to the bone.

IVANOFF. I have felt it inevitable that I should go back to Siberia. A thousand times have I felt it since I entered these rooms.

[He goes down toward the window.]

PIKE. I know you feel mighty bad, but perhaps—perhaps—

IVANOFF. There is no perhaps for me. There was never any perhaps after I met Helene.

PIKE [scratching his head]. Helene!

IVANOFF. Helene was my wife, she who sent me to Siberia, she and my dear, accursed English friend.

PIKE [thoughtfully]. What was his name?

IVANOFF. His name—it was Glenwood. I shall not forget that name soon.

PIKE. What was he doing in Russia?

IVANOFF. I have told you he had contracts with the Ministry of Finance—he supplied hydraulic machinery to the government. Does the name Glenwood mean anything to you? Have you heard it?

PIKE [profoundly thoughtful, pauses, looking at IVANOFF sharply]. No. [Then to himself.] And there must be a million Helenes in France.

IVANOFF. I prayed God to let me meet them before I was taken. But I talk too much of myself. I wish to know—you—you will be safe. They can do nothing to you, can they?

PIKE [with assumed cheerfulness]. Oh, I'm all right—don't worry about me.

[Loud knock at the upper doors.]

IVANOFF [despairingly]. It is the carabiniere.

PIKE. Steady. [Looks at watch.] Not yet. Go back. We won't throw our hands into the discard until we're called. We'll keep on raising.

[Exit IVANOFF through door on the right, closing it after him.]

[PIKE scratches his head and slowly says: "Helene." Then calls: "Come in!"]

[MARIANO opens the upper doors from without and bows.]

MARIANO. Miladi Creesh—she ask you would speak with her a few minutes?

PIKE. All right! Where is she?

MARIANO. Here, sir.

PIKE. Come right in, ma'am!

[LADY CREECH enters.]

LADY CREECH [frigidly]. I need scarcely inform you that this interview is not of my seeking. [She sits stiffly.] On the contrary, it is intensely disagreeable to me. My brother-in-law feels that some one well acquainted with Miss Granger-Simpson's ambitions and her inner nature should put the case finally to you before we proceed to extremities.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am!

LADY CREECH [crossly]. Don't mumble your words if you expect me to listen to you.

PIKE [cordially]. Go on, ma'am!

LADY CREECH. My brother-in-law has made us aware of the state of affairs, and we are quite in sympathy with my brother-in-law's attitude as to what should be done to you.

PIKE [in a tone of genial inquiry]. Yes, ma'am; and what do you think ought to be done to me?

LADY CREECH. If, in the kindness of our hearts, we condone your offence, we insist upon your accession to our reasonable demands.

PIKE [sardonically]. By ten o'clock!

LADY CREECH. Quite so.

PIKE. You say he told all of you? Has he told Miss Ethel?

LADY CREECH. It hasn't been thought proper. Young girls should be shielded from everything disagreeable.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am; that's the idea that got me into this trouble.

LADY CREECH. I say, this young lady, who seems to be technically your ward, is considered, by all of us who understand her, infinitely more my ward.

PIKE. Yes, ma'am! Go on.

LADY CREECH [loftily]. She came to me something more than a year ago—

PIKE [simply]. Did you advertise?

LADY CREECH [stung]. I suppose it is your intention to be offensive.

PIKE [protesting]. No, ma'am; I didn't mean anything. But, you see, I've handled all her accounts, and her payments to you—

LADY CREECH [crushingly]. We will omit tradesman-like references! What Lord Hawcastle wished me to impress on you is not only that you will ruin yourself, but put a blight upon the life of the young lady whom you are pleased to consider your ward. We make this suggestion because we conceive that you have a preposterous sentimental interest yourself in Miss Granger-Simpson.

PIKE [taken aback]. Me?

LADY CREECH. Upon what other ground are we to explain your conduct?

PIKE. You mean that I'd only stand between her and you for my own sake?

LADY CREECH. We can comprehend no other grounds.

PIKE [solemnly]. I don't believe you can! But you can comprehend that I wouldn't have any hope, can't you?

LADY CREECH. One never knows what these weird Americans hope. Hawcastle assures me you have some such idea, but my charge has studied under my instruction—deportment, manners, and ideals—which has lifted her above the mere American circumstance of her birth. She has ambitions. If you stand in the way of them she will wither, she will die like a caged bird. All that was sordid about her parentage she has cast off. We have thought that we might make something out of her.

PIKE [in a clear voice, looking at her mildly]. Make something out of her—yes, ma'am!

LADY CREECH [quickly]. Make something better of her. We offer her this alliance with a family which for seven hundred years—

PIKE. Yes, ma'am—Crecy and Agincourt—I know.

LADY CREECH. With a family never sullied by those low ideals of barter and exchange which are the governing impulses of your countrymen.

PIKE. Seven hundred years—[fumbling in coat-pocket]—why, look here, Mrs. Creech!

[At this LADY CREECH half rises from her chair with a profound shudder, sinks back again; PIKE continues.]

I've got a letter right here [takes letter from pocket] that tells me your brother-in-law was in business—and I respect him for it—only a few years ago.

LADY CREECH [angrily]. A letter from whom?

PIKE. Jim Cooley, our vice-consul in London. Jim ain't the wisest man in the world, but he seems to have this all right, and he says Mr. Hawcastle—

LADY CREECH [exploding]. Mr. Hawcastle!

PIKE [placatingly]. Well, I can call a person Colonel or Cap or Doc or anything of that kind, but I just plain don't know how to use the kind of words you have over here for those things. They don't seem to fit my mouth, somehow. Just let me run on my own way. I don't mean to hurt your feelings. Anyway, Jim says your brother-in-law was in business in Russia.

[Up to this point he has gone on rapidly, but after the word "Russia" he pauses abruptly as if startled by a sudden thought and slowly repeats.]

"In business in Russia!"

[He rises.]

LADY CREECH. This is beside the point entirely!

PIKE. It is the point! Now, between us, ain't Jim right? Ain't it the truth?

LADY CREECH [angry and agitated]. Since some of your vulgar American officials have been spying about—

PIKE [with controlled excitement]. Your brother-in-law was in business in Russia; so far, so good.

[Leans upon back of chair watching her, eager, but smiling cordially.]

I don't say he was peddling shoe-strings on the corner or selling weinerwursts—

[LADY CREECH gives a slight scream of indignation.]

PIKE [continuing]. Probably something more hifalutin' and dignified than that. He was probably agent for a wooden butter-dish factory.

LADY CREECH [enraged]. He had contracts with the Russian government itself!

PIKE (staggering back, recovers himself immediately, and, speaking sharply, but in a voice of great agitation). Not for mining—not for hydraulic machines!

LADY CREECH. And even so he protected the historic name of St. Aubyn.

PIKE. By God, I believe you!

LADY CREECH. Don't mumble your words!

PIKE. Had he ever lived at Glenwood Priory?

LADY CREECH [indignantly]. Is your mind wandering? The priory belonged to Hawcastle's mother. Can you state its connection with the subject?

PIKE. That's how he protected the historic name of St. Aubyn! That's the name he took—Glenwood!

LADY CREECH. What of that?

PIKE [awe-struck]. God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform!

LADY CREECH. Oblige me by omitting blasphemous allusions in my presence. What answer are you prepared to make to Lord Hawcastle?

PIKE [in a ringing voice]. Tell your brother-in-law that he can have my answer in ten minutes—and he can come to me here for it! I'll give it in the presence of the young lady and her brother.

LADY CREECH [turning to go]. Her brother—certainly! He is in perfect sympathy with our attitude. As for Miss Granger-Simpson's knowing anything of this most disagreeable affair—no!

PIKE. I beg your pardon.

LADY CREECH. I shall not permit her to come near here. As her chaperone I refuse. We all refuse!

PIKE. All right; refuse away.

LADY CREECH. I shall tell Lord Hawcastle—

PIKE. Ten minutes from now and in this room.

LADY CREECH. But Miss Granger-Simpson under no condition whatever.

[Sweeps out haughtily.]

[PIKE closes the doors behind her, touches an electric button over the mantel, then sits at desk and writes hurriedly. Knock at upper doors.]

PIKE. Come in!

[Enter MARIANO.]

PIKE. Mariano, I want you to take this note to Miss Simpson.

[Quickly enclosing note in envelope and addressing it.]

MARIANO. To Mees Granger-Seempson?

PIKE. Do you know where she is?

MARIANO. She walks on the terrace alone.

PIKE. Give it to her yourself—to no one else—[emphatically]—and do it now.

[Gives him the note.]

MARIANO. At once, sir!

[Going.]

PIKE. Hurry!

[Almost pushes him out of the upper doors and closes them. He goes quickly to the door on the right, opens it, and calls.]

Ivanoff!

[IVANOFF opens the door and comes out apprehensively.]

IVANOFF [as he enters]. Have they come?

PIKE. Not yet! Ivanoff, you prayed to see your wife and your friend Glenwood before you went back to Siberia.

IVANOFF [falling back with a cry]. Ah!

PIKE. If that prayer is answered through me, will you promise to remember that it's my fight?

IVANOFF. Ah! it is impossible—you wish to play with me!

PIKE. Do I look playful?

[A bugle sounds sharply outside the window.]

IVANOFF [wildly]. The carabiniere—for me.

[The two rush together to the window.]

PIKE [thrusting IVANOFF behind him]. Don't show yourself!

IVANOFF. [looking out of the window over PIKE'S shoulder]. Look! Near the lamp yonder—there by the doors—the carabiniere.

PIKE. They've been there since this afternoon.

[Shading his eyes from the light of the room with one hand.]

Look there—who on earth—who's that they've got with them?—Why, good Lord! it's Doc!

[Astounded.]

IVANOFF. It is Herr von Groellerhagen! Did I not tell you he was a Russian? He has betrayed me himself. He was not satisfied that others should. [Bitterly.] I knew I was in the wolf's throat here!

PIKE. Don't you believe it! They've arrested poor old Doc. They got him as he went out.

IVANOFF [pointing]. No; they speak respectfully to him. They bow to him—

PIKE [grimly]. They'll be bowing to us in a minute. That's probably the way these colonels run you in.

[Sharp knock on upper doors.]

PIKE [urging him toward the door on the right]. You wait till I call you, and remember it's my fight.

IVANOFF [turning, half hysterically]. You promise before I am taken that I shall see—

[MARIANO enters at upper doors.]

PIKE [domineeringly, as he sees MARIANO]. And don't you forget what I've been telling you—you get the sand out of that gear-box first thing tomorrow morning, or I'll see that you draw your last pay Saturday night.

[IVANOFF bows meekly and exit to right, closing door after him.]

MARIANO. Miss Granger-Seempson!

[Exit.]

PIKE. All right, Mariano!

[ETHEL enters haughtily.]

I'm much obliged to you for taking my note the right way. I've got some pretty good reasons for not leaving this room.

[She is icy in manner, but her hands fidget with the note he has sent her, crumpling it up.]

ETHEL [sitting]. Your note seemed so extraordinarily urgent—

PIKE. It had to be. Some folks who want to see me are coming here, and I want you to see them—here. They'd stopped you from coming if they could.

ETHEL [holding herself very straight in her chair]. There was no effort to prevent me.

PIKE. No; I didn't give 'em time.

ETHEL. May I ask to whom you refer?

PIKE. The whole kit and boodle of 'em!

ETHEL [not relaxing her coldness]. You are inelegant, Mr. Pike.

PIKE. I haven't time to be elegant, even if I knew how.

ETHEL. Do you mean that my chaperone would disapprove?

PIKE. I shouldn't be surprised. I reckon the whole fine flower of Europe would disapprove. "Disapprove?"—they'd sand-bag you to keep you away!

ETHEL [rising quickly]. Oh, then I can't stay.

PIKE [going between her and the upper doors, speaks with ring of domination]. Yes you can, and you will, and you've got to!

ETHEL [angrily]. "Got to!" I shall not!

PIKE. I'm your guardian, and you'll do as I say. You'll obey me this once if you never do again.

[She looks at him defiantly; he faces her with determination, and continues without pause.]

You'll stay here while I talk to these people, and you'll stay in spite of anything they say or do to make you go.

[Slight pause; she yields and walks back to her chair. PIKE continues.]

God knows I hate to talk rough to you. I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world, but it's come to a point where I've got to use the authority I have over you.

ETHEL [with a renewal of her defiance]. Authority? Do you think—

PIKE. You'll stay here for the next twenty minutes if I have to make Crecy and Agincourt look like a Peace Conference!

[She looks at him aghast, sinks into chair by table; he continues after a very slight pause.]

You and your brother have soaked up a society-column notion of life over here; you're like old Pete Delaney of Terry Hut—he got so he'd drink cold tea if there was a whiskey label on the bottle. They've fuddled you with labels. It's my business to see that you know what kind of people you're dealin' with.

ETHEL [almost in tears]. You're bullying me! I don't see why you talk so brutally to me.

PIKE [sadly and earnestly]. Do you think I'd do it for anything but you?

ETHEL [angrily]. You are odious! Insufferable!

PIKE [humbly]. Don't you think I know you despise me?

ETHEL. I do not despise you; if I had stayed at home, and grown up there, I should probably have been a provincial young woman playing "Sweet Genevieve" for you to-night. But my life has not been that, and you have humiliated me from the moment of your arrival here. You have made me ashamed both of you and of myself. And now you have some preposterous plan which will shame me again, humiliate both of us once more, before my friends, these gentlefolk.

[A loud noise without. LADY CREECH'S voice is heard shouting.]

PIKE [dryly]. I think the gentlefolk are here.

[The upper doors up centre are thrown open; LADY CREECH hurriedly enters, with MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY and HORACE, followed by ALMERIC.]

LADY CREECH. My dear child, what are you doing in this dreadful place with this dreadful person?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. My dear, les convenances!

HORACE. Ethel, I'm extremely surprised; come away at once!

ALMERIC. Oh, I say, you know, really, Miss Ethel! You can't stay here, you know, can you?

PIKE. I'm her guardian; she's here by my authority, she'll stay by my authority.

[LORD HAWCASTLE appears in the open doors and bows sardonically to PIKE.]

HAWCASTLE [suavely]. Ah, good-evening, Mr. Pike!

HORACE. Lord Hawcastle, will you insist upon Ethel's leaving? It's quite on the cards we shall have a disagreeable scene here.

HAWCASTLE [smiling]. I see no occasion for it; we're here simply for Mr. Pike's answer. He knows where we stand and we know where he stands.

PIKE [with a grim smile]. I reckon you're right so far.

HAWCASTLE [continuing]. And his answer will be yes.

PIKE [with quiet emphasis]. But you're wrong there!

HAWCASTLE [to HORACE, with sudden seriousness]. Perhaps you are right, Mr. Granger-Simpson. Painful things may be done. Better the young lady were spared them. Take your sister away.

[He motions HORACE toward the door.]

ALMERIC. For God's sake do—it may be quite rowdy.

LADY CREECH [to ETHEL at the same time]. My dear, you positively must!

HORACE. Ethel, I command you!

[ETHEL, troubled, half rises as if to go]

PIKE [imperiously, to ETHEL]. You stay right where you are!

ALMERIC [angrily]. Oh, I say!

LADY CREECH. Oh, the lynching ruffian!

HORACE. Ethel, do you mean to let this fellow dictate to you?

ETHEL [breathlessly and loudly, as if resistance were hopeless]. But—he says I must!

[She sinks back into her chair.]

PIKE [to HAWCASTLE]. You're here for an answer, you say?

HAWCASTLE [on the defensive]. Yes!

PIKE. An answer to what?

HAWCASTLE [painfully resuming his suavity]. An answer to our request that you accede to the wishes of that young lady.

PIKE. And if I don't, what are you going to do?

HORACE. Ethel, you must go!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. This man is an Apache!

LADY CREECH [simultaneously]. Barbarian!

PIKE [to HAWCASTLE]. I'll leave it to you to tell her.

HAWCASTLE. A gentleman would spare her that.

PIKE. I won't! Speak out! Why do you come here sure of the answer you want?

HAWCASTLE [intensely annoyed]. Tut, tut!

LADY CREECH. Don't mumble your words!

PIKE. I'll make it even plainer than you like.

HORACE. I protest against this!

ALMERIC. Throw the rotter out of the window!

PIKE [particularly addressing ETHEL]. This afternoon I tried to help a poor devil—a broken-down Russian running away from Siberia, where he'd been for nine years.

[She rises; her eyes eagerly meet his.]

A poor weak thing, hounded like you've seen a rat in the gutter by dogs and bootblacks. Some of your friends here saw us bring him into this apartment; they know we've got him here now. If I don't agree to hand over you and seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars of the money John Simpson made, it means that the man I have tried to help goes back to rot in Siberia and I go to an Italian jail for two years, or as much longer as they can make it.

HAWCASTLE [violently]. Nonsense!

ETHEL [stepping toward PIKE, indignantly]. I knew that you had only a further humiliation in store for me—

HAWCASTLE [following her and trying to interrupt]. But my dear—

ETHEL [with dignity]. No—you need make no denial for yourselves.

[To PIKE, haughtily.]

Do you think I would believe that an English noble would stoop—

PIKE [with passionate indignation]. Stoop! Why, ten years ago in St. Petersburg there was a poor revolutionist who, in his crazy patriotism, took government money for the cause he believed in. He made the mistake of keeping that money in his house, when this man [pointing at HAWCASTLE] knew it was there. He also made the mistake of having a wife that this man coveted and stole—as he coveted and stole the money. Oh, he made a good job of it! Don't think that to-night is the first time he has given information to the police. He did it then, and the husband went to Siberia—

HAWCASTLE [staggered and enraged]. A dastardly slander!

PIKE [in a ringing voice].—and he'll do it again to-night. I go to an Italian jail [he suddenly swings his outstretched hand to point to MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, continuing without pause] and, by the living God, that same poor devil of a husband goes back to Siberia!

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, with an ejaculation of horror and fright, staggers back.]

HAWCASTLE [in extreme agitation]. It's a ghastly lie!

PIKE. You came for your answer. Here it is.

[Calls sharply.]

Ivanoff!

[IVANOFF appears in the doorway on the right. He advances, lifts both clinched fists above MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY'S head.]

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, with a shuddering cry, falls on her knees in an attitude of fright and abasement.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Ivan!—oh, Mother of God!—Ivan! Don't kill me—

[IVANOFF shudders with weakness, trembles violently, collapses into chair, she still at his feet. IVANOFF sobbing.]

HORACE [starting toward her in extreme agitation]. Helene!

PIKE [sternly to HORACE]. You keep back, she's his wife.

[Pointing to HAWCASTLE.]

And there stands his best friend!

HAWCASTLE. It's a lie! I never saw the man before in my life.

PIKE [grimly, with a gesture toward MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY]. The lady seems to recognize him.

HAWCASTLE. Almeric, go for the police. Call them quickly!

[His voice loud and hoarse.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [springs to her feet, protesting]. No—no—I can't!

PIKE [with his hand on IVANOFF'S shoulder]. Call them in—we're ready.

[To ETHEL.]

But I want you always to remember that I considered it cheap at the price.

[ETHEL, in an agony of shame, turns from him. At same time MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, never taking her eyes from IVANOFF'S face, and showing great fear, moves back near HAWCASTLE.]

ALMERIC [opening the upper doors and calling]. Tell that officer to bring his men in here!

[VASILI enters briskly from the hall.]

[RIBIERE enters immediately after from the same direction.]

VASILI [in a loud, clear voice]. There will be no arrests to-night, my friends.

HAWCASTLE [violently, to ALMERIC]. Do as I say! This man [meaning VASILI] goes, too.

VASILI [curtly]. The officer is not there, the carabiniere have been withdrawn.

[To PIKE, gravely and rapidly.]

For your sake I have relinquished my incognito.

[To HAWCASTLE.]

The man Ivanoff is in my custody.



HAWCASTLE [violently]. By whose authority? Do you know that you are speaking to the Earl of Hawcastle?

RIBIERE [in a ringing voice, advancing a step]. More respectful, sir! You are addressing his Highness, the Grand-Duke Vasili of Russia.

[HAWCASTLE falls back, stricken.]

PIKE [thunderstruck]. Respectful! Think of what I've been calling him!

VASILI. My friend, it has been refreshing. [To RIBIERE]. Ribiere, I shall take Ivanoff's statement in writing. Bring him with you.

[VASILI turns on his heel, curtly, and passes rapidly out through the door on the right.]

[RIBIERE touches IVANOFF on shoulder, indicating that he must follow VASILI.]

[IVANOFF starts with RIBIERE; MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY shrinks back with a low exclamation of fear.]

IVANOFF [hoarsely to her]. I would not touch you—not even to strangle you!

[With outstretched hand, pointing to HAWCASTLE.]

But God will let me pay my debt to the Earl of Hawcastle!

[Goes rapidly out with RIBIERE.]

HAWCASTLE [choked with rage, advancing on PIKE]. Why, you—

PIKE [genially]. Oh! I hated to hand you this, my lord. I didn't come over here to make the fine flower of Europe any more trouble than they've got. But I had to show John Simpson's daughter.

[Movement from HORACE and ETHEL.]

And I reckon now she isn't wanting any alliance with the remnants of Crecy and Agincourt.

ETHEL [tremulously, coming close to PIKE]. But I have no choice—I gave Almeric my promise when I thought it an honor to bear his name. Now that you have shown me it is a shame to bear it, the promise is only more sacred. The shame is not his fault. You—you—want me to be—honorable—don't you?

PIKE [after a long stare at her, speaks in a feeble voice, very slowly]. Your father—and mother—both—came—from Missouri, didn't they?

END OF THE THIRD ACT



THE FOURTH ACT

SCENE: The same as in Act I. The morning of the next day. Upon the steps leading to the hotel doors is a pile of bags, hat-boxes, and rugs.

As the curtain rises HAWCASTLE, in a travelling suit and cap, is directing a porter who is adjusting a strap on a travelling bag. ALMERIC enters from the hotel, smoking a cigarette.

ALMERIC. Ah, Governor; see you're moving!

HAWCASTLE. I may.

[His manner is nervous, apprehensive, and wary. Porter touches his cap and goes into hotel.]

It depends.

ALMERIC. Depends? Madame de Champigny took the morning boat to Naples, and your trunks are gone. Shouldn't say that looked much like dependin'.

HAWCASTLE [nervously]. It does, though, with that devilish convict—

ALMERIC. Oh, but I say, Governor, you're not in a funk about him! You could bowl him over with a finger.

HAWCASTLE [glancing over his shoulder]. Not if he had what he didn't have last night, or I shouldn't be here to-day.

ALMERIC. You don't think the beggar'd be taking a shot at you?

HAWCASTLE [fastening clasp of hat-box]. I don't know what the crazy fool mightn't do.

ALMERIC. But, you know, he's really quite as much in custody as you could wish. That Vasilivitch chap has got him fast enough.

[LADY CREECH enters from the hotel.]

HAWCASTLE [sharply]. The Grand-Duke Vasili has the reputation of being a romantic fool. I don't know what moment he may decide to let Ivanoff loose.

LADY CREECH [with triumphant indignation]. Then I have the advantage over you, Hawcastle. He's just done it.

HAWCASTLE [startled]. What?

LADY CREECH [continuing]. Got him a pardon from Russia by telegraph.

HAWCASTLE. You don't mean that!

LADY CREECH. Ethel has just told me.

HAWCASTLE. My God!

[He springs forward and touches a bell on wall.]

LADY CREECH. An outrage! Our plans all so horribly upset—

HAWCASTLE [turning and coming down steps]. No, they're not.

[MARIANO appears in the doorway.]

HAWCASTLE. Mariano, I'm off for Naples. Sharp's the word!

MARIANO. It is too late for the boat, Milor'. You must drive to Castellamare for the train.

HAWCASTLE. There's a carriage waiting for me at the gate yonder. Get these things into it quick—quick!

[MARIANO beckons porters from the hotel. Porters enter sharply and carry bags, etc., off.]

[Meanwhile, HAWCASTLE, without pause, continues rapidly and in an excited voice to ALMERIC and LADY CREECH.]

You must see it through; you mustn't let the thing fail; what's more, you've got to hurry it, just as if I were here. This girl gave her word last night that she'd stick.

LADY CREECH. But she's behaving very peculiarly this morning. Outrageously would be nearer it.

HAWCASTLE. How?

LADY CREECH. Shedding tears over this Ivanoff's story. What's more, she has sent that dreadful Pike person to him with assistance.

HAWCASTLE. What sort of assistance?

LADY CREECH. Money. I don't know how much, but I'm sure it was a lot.

ALMERIC [with a sudden inspiration]. By Jove! Buying the beggar off, perhaps, to keep him from making a scandal for us.

HAWCASTLE [excitedly]. That's what she's trying to do!

LADY CREECH. Then why do you go?

HAWCASTLE. Because I'm not sure she can. [Going to steps.] Wire me at the Bertolini, Naples. [Turning at stoop.] This shows she means to stick.

LADY CREECH. For the sake of her promise.

HAWCASTLE [emphatically]. Yes, and for the sake of the name.

[He runs out rapidly.]

[PIKE enters from the grove, smoking.]

PIKE [thoughtfully]. Your pa seems in a hurry.

[LADY CREECH and ALMERIC turn, startled. LADY CREECH haughtily sweeps away, entering the hotel.]

ALMERIC [cheerfully]. Oh yes, possibly—he's off, you know—to catch a train. He's so easily worried by trifles.

[PIKE looks at ALMERIC with a sort of chuckling admiration.]

PIKE. Well, you don't worry—not too easy; do you, son?

ALMERIC. Oh, one finds nothing in particular this morning to bother one.

PIKE [assenting]. Nothing at all.

ALMERIC. Not I. Of course, Miss Ethel is standing to her promise?

PIKE [grimly]. Yes, she is.

ALMERIC. The Governor only thought it best to clear out a bit until we were certain that she manages to draw off this convict chap.

PIKE [puzzled]. Draw him off?

ALMERIC. What you Americans call "affixing him," isn't it?

PIKE. "Affixing him?" Don't try to talk United States, my son. Just tell me in your own way.

ALMERIC. She's been giving him money, hasn't she? You took it to him yourself, didn't you? Naturally, we understood what it was for. She's trying to keep the beggar quiet.

PIKE. So that's what she sent this poor cuss the money for, was it?

ALMERIC. Why, what other reason could there be?

PIKE. Well, you know I sort of gathered it was because she was sorry for him—thought he'd been wronged; but, of course, I'm stupid.

ALMERIC. Well, ra-ther! I don't know that it was so necessary for her to hush him up, but it showed a very worthy intention in her, didn't it?

PIKE [slowly]. Would you mind my being present when you thank her for it?

ALMERIC. Shouldn't in the least if I intended thanking her. It simply shows she considers herself already one of us. It's perfectly plain—why, it's plain as you are!

[Chuckles.]

PIKE. Oh! if I could only get it over to Kokomo! And that's why you're not worrying, is it, son?

ALMERIC. Worrying? My good man, do you mind excusing me. I saw a most likely pup yesterday; I'm afraid some other chap'll snatch him up before I do. I should have taken him at once. Good-morning!

[Exit through the grove with a sprightly gait and a wave of his stick.]

[PIKE gazes after him, shaking his head with a half-admiring, half-sardonic chuckle.]

[Enter ETHEL from the hotel. She wears a pretty morning dress and hat; her face is very sad.]

ETHEL. I hear that Lord Hawcastle has left the hotel.

PIKE [dryly]. Yes; I saw him go.

ETHEL. He left very quickly?

PIKE. He did seem to be forgetting the scenery.

ETHEL [decidedly]. He was afraid of Ivanoff.

PIKE. I shouldn't be surprised. Ivanoff wants to thank you. May I bring him?

ETHEL. Yes.

[PIKE goes off into the grove.]

[MARIANO and a file of servants enter from the hotel, form a line, and bow profoundly as VASILI enters. They withdraw at a sign from him.]

ETHEL [making a deep curtsy]. Monseigneur!

VASILI [to ETHEL]. Not you! You see, I must fly to some place where an incognito will be respected. If I stay here it will be—what you call—fuss and feathers and revolutionary agents. I have come to make my adieu to your guardian. Incognito or out of it, he is my very good friend—no matter if he is an egoist.

ETHEL. An egoist! That is the last thing in the world he should be called.

VASILI. Ah, so; what do you call him?

ETHEL. I? I call him—

[She begins bravely, but at a keen glance from him stops abruptly, blushing.]

VASILI. Bravo! I call him an egoist because he is so content to be what he is he will not pretend to be something else! I respect your country in him, my dear young lady; and he cares nothing whether I am a king or a commoner. Everywhere the people bow and salaam half on their knees to me; but he—

ETHEL. No, I can't quite imagine him doing that.

[Enter PIKE from the grove, followed by IVANOFF.]

VASILI [to PIKE]. I have come to bid you goodbye, my friend. Life is a service of farewells, they say; but if you ever come to St. Petersburg when I am there you will be made welcome. Your ambassador will tell you where to find me.

PIKE. I know I'd be welcome; and if you ever get out as far as Indiana, don't miss Kokomo—the depot hackman will tell you where to find me, and the boys will help me show you a good time. You'd like it, Doc—

[He stops, horrified at his slip of the tongue.]

VASILI. I know that.

PIKE. I don't know how to call you by name, but I reckon you'll understand I do think an awful lot of you.

VASILI [as they shake hands]. My friend, I have confided to you that you are a great man. But a great man is sure to be set upon a pedestal by some pretty lady. [ETHEL turns away.] It is a great responsibility to occupy a pedestal. On that account I depart in some anxiety for you.

PIKE. What do you mean?

VASILI. Ah, you do not understand? Then, my friend—what is it you have taught me to say?—ah, yes—then there is sand in your gear-box.

[VASILI gives his hand to IVANOFF quietly, bows deeply to ETHEL, and goes quickly into the hotel.]

IVANOFF [turning to ETHEL]. Dear, kind young lady, your guardian has known how to make me accept the help you granted. He has known how because his heart is like yours, full of goodness. I shall go to London and teach the languages. There I shall be able to repay you—at least what you have given me in money.

ETHEL. Professor Ivanoff, are you following Lord Hawcastle and your wife?

IVANOFF. My wife exists no longer for me.

ETHEL. But Lord Hawcastle? Do you mean to follow him?

IVANOFF [with great feeling]. No, no, no! I could not hurt his body—I could not. The suffering of a man is here—here! What is it he has of most value in this world? It is that name of his. Except for that, he is poor, and that I shall destroy. He shall not go in his clubs; he shall not go among his own class, and in the streets they will point at him. His story and mine shall be made—ah, but too well known! And that name of which he and all his family have been so proud, it shall be disgrace and dishonor to bear.

ETHEL [sadly]. Already it is that.

IVANOFF. But I forget myself. I talk so ugly.

ETHEL. It is not in my heart to blame you. Your wrongs have given you the right.

IVANOFF [kissing her hand]. God bless you always!



[He takes PIKE'S hand, tries to speak, but chokes up and cannot. He goes into the hotel.]

PIKE. There are some good people over here, aren't there?

ETHEL. When you're home again I hope you will remember them.

PIKE. I will.

ETHEL. And I hope you will forget everything I've ever said.

PIKE. Somehow it doesn't seem as if I very likely would.

ETHEL [coming toward him]. Oh yes, you will! All those unkind things I've said to you—

PIKE. Oh, I'll forget those easy!

ETHEL [going on eagerly, but almost tearfully]. And the other things, too, when you're once more among your kind, good home folks you like so well—and probably there's one among them that you'll be so glad to get back to you'll hardly know you've been away—an unworldly girl—[she falters]—one that doesn't need to be cured—oh! of all sorts of follies—a kind girl, one who's been always sweet to you. [Turns away from him.] I can see her—she wears a white muslin and waits by the gate for you at twilight [turns to him again]—isn't she like that?

PIKE [shaking his head gravely]. No; not like that.

ETHEL. But there is some one there?—some one that you've cared for?

PIKE [sadly]. Well, she's only been there in a way. I've had her picture on my desk for a good while. Sometimes when I go home in the evening she kind of seems to be there. I bought a homey old house up on Main Street, you know; it's the house you were born in. It's kind of lonesome sometimes, and then I get to thinking that she's there, sitting at an old piano, that used to be my mother's, and singing to me—

ETHEL [smiling sorrowfully]. Singing "Sweet Genevieve"?

PIKE. Yes—that's my favorite. But then I come to and I find it ain't so, no voice comes to me, and I find there ain't anybody but me [swallows painfully], and it's so foolish that even Jim Cooley can write me letters making fun of it!

ETHEL. You'll find her some day—you'll find some one to fulfil that vision—and I shall think of you in your old house among the beech-trees. I shall think of you often with her, listening to her voice in the twilight. And I shall be far away from that sensible, kindly life—keeping the promise that I have made [falters], and living out—my destiny.

PIKE [gravely]. What destiny?

ETHEL. I am bound to Almeric in his misfortune, I am bound to him by his misfortune.

[She goes on with a sorrowful eagerness.]

He has to bear a name that will be a by-word of disgrace, and it is my duty to help him bear it, to help him make it honorable again; to inspire him in the struggle that lies before him to rise above it by his own efforts, to make a career for himself; to make the world forget the disgrace of his father in his own triumphs—in the product of his own work—

PIKE [aghast]. Work!

ETHEL. Oh, I am all American to-day. No matter how humbly he begins, it will be a beginning, and no matter what it costs me I must be by his side helping him, with all my energy and strength. Can you challenge that? Isn't it true?

PIKE. I can't deny it—that's what any good and brave woman ought to feel.

ETHEL. And since it has to be done, it must be done at once. I haven't seen Almeric since last night; I must see him now.

PIKE [grimly]. He's not here just now.

[HORACE enters; stands in the doorway unobserved, listening.]

ETHEL. I've shirked facing him to-day. He has always been so light and gay, I have dreaded to see him bending under this blow, shamed and overcome. Now it is my duty to see him, to show him how he can hold up his head in spite of it!

PIKE. I agree, it's your duty—

ETHEL [eagerly, but tremulously]. That means that you—as my guardian—think I am right?

PIKE. I agree to it, I said.

ETHEL [excited]. Then that must mean that you consent—

PIKE. It does—I give my consent to your marriage.

ETHEL [shocked and frightened]. You do?

PIKE. I place it in your hands.

HORACE [vehemently interrupting]. I protest against this. She's talking like a romantic schoolgirl. And I for one won't bear it—and I won't allow it!

ETHEL. Too late—he's consented.

[With a half-choked, sudden sob she runs into the hotel.]

HORACE [turning furiously on PIKE]. I tell you I shall not permit her to throw herself away!

PIKE. Look here, who's the guardian of this girl?

HORACE. A magnificent guardian you are! You came here to protect her from something you thought rotten; now we all know it's rotten, you hand her over!

[Turns with a short, bitter laugh, walks up stage, then comes back.]

By Jove! I shouldn't be surprised if you consent to the settlement, too!

PIKE [solemnly]. My son, I shouldn't be surprised if I did.

HORACE. Is the world topsy-turvy? Have I gone crazy?

[With accusing finger pointed at PIKE.]

I'll bet my soul that'll disgust her as much as it does me!

PIKE. My son, I shouldn't be surprised if it would.

HORACE [staring at him]. By the Lord, but you play a queer game, Mr. Pike!

PIKE. Oh, I'm jest crossing the Rubicon. Your father used to have a saying: "If you're going to cross the Rubicon, cross it. Don't wade out to the middle and stand there; you only get hell from both banks."

[Enter LADY CREECH from the hotel.]

LADY CREECH [testily]. Mr. Granger-Simpson, have you seen my nephew?

HORACE. No; I've rather avoided that, if you don't mind my saying so.

LADY CREECH. Mr. Granger-Simpson!

HORACE. I'm sorry, Lady Creech, but I've had a most awful shaking-up, and I'm almost thinking of going back home with Mr. Pike. I rather think he's about right in his ideas. You know we abused him, not only for himself, but for his vulgar friend; yet his vulgar friend turned out to be a grand-duke—and look at what our friends turned out to be.

[Goes rapidly into the hotel.]

[ALMERIC'S voice is heard from the grove. "Come along! There's a good fellow!"]

LADY CREECH. Isn't that Almeric?

PIKE. Here he comes, shamed and bending under the blow!

[ALMERIC enters from the grove, leading a bull terrier pup.]

ALMERIC. Mariano, Mariano—I say, Mariano! I say, Aunty, ain't he rippin'? Lucky I got there just as I did—a bounder wanted to buy him five minutes later.

[MARIANO enters from hotel.]

Mariano, do you think you could be trusted to wash him?

MARIANO. Wash him!

ALMERIC. Tepid water, you know; and mind he doesn't take cold; and just a little milk afterward—nothing else but milk, you understand. You be deuced careful, I mean to say.

MARIANO [with dignity]. I will give him to the porter.

[He carries the animal into the hotel.]

LADY CREECH. Almeric, really, there are more important things, you know.

ALMERIC. But you don't seem to realize I might have missed him altogether. I think I'm rather to be congratulated, you know. What?

PIKE. I think you are, my son. I have given my consent.

ALMERIC. Rippin'!

LADY CREECH. And the settlement?

PIKE. The settlement also—everything!

[ETHEL enters from the hotel, followed by HORACE.]

LADY CREECH [greatly relieved and overjoyed, starting toward ETHEL]. Ethel, my dear!

ALMERIC [cheerfully]. I told you it would all be plain sailing, Aunty. There was nothing to worry about.

LADY CREECH [continuing, to ETHEL]. All shall be forgiven, my child. I am too pleased, too overjoyed in your good-fortune to remember any little bickerings between us. The sky has cleared wonderfully. Everything is settled.

ETHEL. Yes; it's all over; my guardian has consented.

ALMERIC. Of course I never worried about it—but I fancy it will be a weight off the Governor's mind. I'll see that a wire catches him at Naples—and he'll be glad to know what became of that arrangement about the convict fellow, too.

ETHEL [very seriously]. Almeric, I think it's noble to be brave in trouble, but—

ALMERIC [puzzled]. I say, you know, you've really got me!

ETHEL. I mean that I admire you for your pluck, for seeming unconcerned under disgrace, but—

ALMERIC. Disgrace? Why, who's disgraced—not even the Governor, as I see it. You got that chap called off, didn't you?

ETHEL. Whom do you mean?

ALMERIC. Why, that convict chap—didn't you send him away? You bought him off, didn't you, so that he won't talk? Gave him money not to bother us?

ETHEL [rising, and turning on him indignantly]. Why, Heaven pity you! Do you think that?

ALMERIC. Oh—what?—he wouldn't agree to be still? Oh, I say, that'll be rather a pill for the Governor—he'll be a bit worried, you know.

ETHEL. Don't you see that it's time for you to worry a little for yourself? That you've got to begin at once to do something worthy that will obliterate this shame—to begin a career—to work—to work!

ALMERIC [puzzled]. But? But I mean to say, though—but what for? What possible need will there be for an extreme like that? Don't you see, in the first place, there's the settlement—

ETHEL [aghast]. Settlement! You talk of settlement, now.

LADY CREECH [angrily]. Settlement, certainly there's the settlement!

ETHEL. What for?

LADY CREECH. Why, don't you understand—you're to be the Countess of Hawcastle, aren't you?

ALMERIC. Why—hasn't he told you?—the only obstacle on earth between us was this fellow's consent to the settlement, and he's just given it.

ETHEL [dazed and angry]. Do you mean to say he's consented to that!

ALMERIC. Why, to be sure—he's just consented with his own lips—didn't you?

PIKE [gravely]. I did.

LADY CREECH. Don't you see, don't you hear that—he's consented? He didn't mumble his words—don't you hear him?

ETHEL. I do, and disbelieve my own ears. Yesterday, when I wanted something I thought of value—and that was a name—he refused to let me buy it—to-day, when I know that that name is less than nothing, worse than nothing—he bids me give my fortune for it. What manner of man is this! And you [to LADY CREECH and ALMERIC], what are you that after last night you come to me and ask a settlement?

LADY CREECH [angrily]. Certainly we do—would you expect to enter a family like this and bring nothing?

ALMERIC. I can't see that the situation has changed since yesterday. I don't stick out for the precise amount the Governor said. If it ought to be less on account of that little affair last night—why, we should be the last people in the world to haggle over a few thousand pounds—

ETHEL [with a cry of rage and relief]. Oh! That is the final word of my humiliation! I felt that you were in shame and dishonor, and, because of that, I was ready to keep my word—to stand by you, to help you make yourself into something like a man—to give my life to you. That you permitted the sacrifice was enough! Now you ask me to PAY for the privilege of making it, I am released! I am free! I am not that man's property to give away!

LADY CREECH [violently]. You're beside yourself. Isn't this what we've been wanting all the time?

ALMERIC. But slow up a bit—didn't you say you'd stick?

ETHEL. Any promise I ever made to you is a thousand times cancelled. This is final!

[With concentrated rage, turning to PIKE.]

And as for you—never presume to speak to me again!

ALMERIC [to LADY CREECH]. Most extraordinary girl—she's rather dreadful, isn't she?

LADY CREECH [with agitation]. Give me your arm, Almeric.

[They go into the hotel.]

ETHEL [to PIKE]. What have you to say to me?

[PIKE raises his hands slowly, with palms outward, and drops them.]

ETHEL. What explanation have you to make?

PIKE. None.

ETHEL. That's because you don't care what I think of you. [Bitterly.] Indeed, you've already shown that, when you were willing to give me up to those people, and to let me pay them for taking me! You let me romanticize to you about honor and duty and sympathy—about my efforts to make that creature a man—and you pretended to sympathize with me, and you knew all the time it was only the money they were after!

PIKE [humbly]. Well, I shouldn't be surprised.

ETHEL. Didn't you have the faint little understanding of me enough to see that their asking for money, now—would horrify me? Didn't you know that your consenting to it, leaving me free to give it to them, would release me—make me free to deny everything to them?

PIKE [slowly]. Well, I shouldn't be surprised if I had seen that.

ETHEL [staggered]. You mean you've been saving me again from myself, from my silliness, from my romanticism, that you've given me another revelation of the falsity, the unreality of my attitude toward these people, and toward life.

PIKE [placatingly]. No, no!

ETHEL [vehemently]. You'd always say that, you'd always deny it—it's like you. You let me make a fool of myself and then you show it to me, and after that you deny it! [Angrily.] You're always exhibiting your superiority! Would you do that to the dream girl you told me of, to the girl at home who plays dream songs for you in the empty house among the beeches? Do you think any girl could love a man for that? Go back to your dream girl, your lady of the picture!

PIKE [disconsolately]. She won't be there.

ETHEL [stubbornly]. She might be.

PIKE. No, there ain't any chance of that. The house will still be empty.

ETHEL [almost crying]. Are you sure?

PIKE [sadly]. There ain't any doubt of it now.

ETHEL. You might be wrong—for once!

[She gives him a look between tears and laughter, then runs into the hotel.]

[PIKE stands sadly, his head bent, every line of his body expressing dejection; then from within the hotel come the sounds of a piano in the preliminary chords of "Sweet Genevieve." ETHEL'S voice is lifted in the song, at first faint, somewhat tremulous and quavering, then rising strongly and confidently. PIKE'S face, slowly upraised, becomes transfigured. He crosses the stage spellbound, to the hotel door with the look of a man in a dream. He falls back a step, looking in.]

THE END