The Man from Home by Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon Wilson

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THE MAN FROM HOME

by

BOOTH TARKINGTON and HARRY LEON WILSON

With Illustrations from Scenes in the Play

Harper & Brothers

1908

[Illustration: THE MAN FROM HOME]

TO

WILLIAM HODGE

THE MAN FROM HOME

ORIGINAL CAST OF CHARACTERS IN
_THE MAN FROM HOME_
BY
BOOTH TARKINGTON and HARRY LEON WILSON
PRESENTED UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF LIEBLER & CO.
AT THE STUDEBAKER THEATRE, CHICAGO
SEPTEMBER 29, 1907,
WHERE IT RAN FOR A YEAR; THEN OPENED IN NEW YORK
AT THE ASTOR THEATRE
AUGUST 17, 1908

CHARACTERS AND PLAYERS

DANIEL VOORHEES PIKE WILLIAM HODGE
THE GRAND DUKE VASILI VASILIVITCH EBEN PLYMPTON
THE EARL OF HAWCASTLE E. J. RATCLIFFE
THE HON. ALMERIC ST. AUBYN ECHLIN P. GAYER
IVANOFF HENRY HARMON
HORACE GRANGER-SIMPSON HASSARD SHORT
RIBIERE HARRY L. LANG
MARIANO ANTHONY ASHER
MICHELE ANTONIO SALERNO
CARABINIERE A. MONTEGRIFFO
VALET DE CHAMBRE C. L. FELTON
ETHEL GRANGER-SIMPSON OLIVE WYNDHAM
COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY ALICE JOHNSON
LADY CREECH. IDA VERNON

TIME: THE PRESENT

PLACE: SORRENTO, SOUTHERN ITALY

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE MAN FROM HOME

"OH NO! SHE ACCEPTED ME"

"YES, SIR, DANIEL VOORHEES PIKE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, KOKOMO, INDIANA"

"_THIS_ IS MR. ST. AUBYN"

"THE NEW CHAUFFEUR FOR THE MACHINE, FROM NAPLES"

"YOU'RE AFTER SOMETHING THERE ISN'T ANYTHING TO"

"IVAN! DON'T KILL ME!"

"MY FRIEND, THERE IS SAND IN YOUR GEAR-BOX"

The illustrations are from photographs of scenes in the play made
especially for the book by Mr. Luther S. White.

CHARACTERS

MEN

DANIEL VOORHEES PIKE
Of Kokomo, Indiana

THE GRAND-DUKE VASILI VASILIVITCH

THE EARL OF HAWCASTLE

THE HON. ALMERIC ST. AUBYN
Son of Lord Hawcastle

IVANOFF

HORACE GRANGER-SIMPSON

RIBIERE
The Grand-Duke's secretary

MARIANO
Maitre d'hotel

MICHELE
A waiter

Two carabiniere

A valet de chambre

Several Sorrentine musicians and fishermen

WOMEN

ETHEL GRANGER-SIMPSON

COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY

LADY CREECH
Sister-in-law of Hawcastle

ACT I.--The terrace of the Hotel Regina Margherita on the cliff at
Sorrento. Morning.

ACT II.--The entrance garden. Afternoon.

ACT III.--An apartment in the hotel. Evening.

ACT IV.--The terrace. Morning.

The time is the present.

The scene is Sorrento, in Southern Italy.

THE FIRST ACT

SCENE: The terrace of the Hotel Regina Margherita, on the cliff at
Sorrento, overlooking the Bay of Naples.

There is a view of the bay and its semi-circular coast-line, dotted with
villages; Vesuvius gray in the distance. Across the stage at the rear
runs a marble balustrade about three feet high, guarding the edge of the
cliff. Upon the left is seen part of one wing of the hotel, entrance to
which is afforded by wide-open double doors approached by four or five
marble steps with a railing and small stoop. The hotel is of pink and
white stucco, and striped awnings shield the windows. Upon the right is
a lemon grove and shrubberies. There are two or three small white wicker
tea-tables and a number of wicker chairs upon the left, and a square
table laid with white cloth on the right.

As the curtain rises mandolins and guitars are heard, and the
"Fisherman's Song," the time very rapid and gay, the musicians being
unseen.

MARIANO, maitre d'hotel, is discovered laying the table down R.C. with
eggs, coffee, and rolls for two. He is a pleasant-faced, elderly man,
stout, swarthy, clean shaven; wears dress-clothes, white waist-coat, and
black tie. He is annoyed by the music.

MARIANO [calling to the unseen musicians crossly]. Silenzio!

[MICHELE enters from the hotel. He is young, clean-shaven except for a
dark mustache, wears a white tie, a blue coat, cut like dress-coat, blue
trousers with red side stripes, brass buttons; his waistcoat is of
striped red and blue.]

MICHELE [speaking over his shoulder]. Par ici, Monsieur Ribiere, pour le
maitre d'hotel.

[RIBIERE enters from the hotel.]

[MICHELE immediately withdraws.]

[RIBIERE is a trim, business-like young Frenchman of some distinction of
appearance. He wears a well-made English dark "cutaway" walking-suit, a
derby hat, and carries a handsome leather writing-case under his arm.]

RIBIERE. [as he enters]. Ah, Mariano!

MARIANO. [bowing and greeting him gayly]. Monsieur Ribiere! J'espere que
vous etes--

[He breaks off, turns on his heel toward the invisible musicians, and
shouts.]

Silenzio!

[He turns again quickly to RIBIERE.]

RIBIERE. [with a warning glance toward hotel]. Let us speak English.
There are not so many who understand.

MARIANO. [politely]. I hope Monsieur still occupy the exalt' position of
secretar' to Monseigneur the Grand-Duke.

RIBIERE. [sits and opens writing-case, answers gravely]. We will not
mention the name or rank of my employer.

MARIANO. [with gesture and accent of despair]. Again incognito! Every
year he come to our hotel for two, three day, but always incognito.

[He finishes setting the table.]

We lose the honor to have it known.

RIBIERE. [looking at his watch]. He comes in his automobile from Naples.
Everything is to be as on my employer's former visits--strictly
incognito. It is understood every one shall address him as Herr von
Groellerhagen--

MARIANO [repeating the name carefully]. Herr von Groellerhagen--

RIBIERE. He wishes to be thought a German.

[Takes a note-book from case.]

MARIANO. Such a man! of caprice? Excentrique? Ha!

RIBIERE. You have said it. Last night he talked by chance to a singular
North American in the hotel at Napoli. To-day he has that stranger for
companion in the automobile. I remonstrate. What use? He laugh for half
an hour!

MARIANO. He is not like those cousin of his at St. Petersburg an'
Moscowa. An' yet though Monseigneur is so good an' generoso, will not
the anarchist strike against the name of royalty himself? You have not
the fear?

RIBIERE [opening his note-book]. I have. He has _not_. I take what
precaution I can secretly from him. You have few guests?

MARIANO [smiling]. It is so early in the season. Those poor musician'
[nodding off right] they wait always at every gate, to play when they
see any one coming. There is only seex peoples in the 'ole house! All of
one party.

RIBIERE. Good! Who are they?

MARIANO. There is Milor', an English Excellency--the Earl of Hawcastle;
there is his son, the Excellency Honorabile Almeric St. Aubyn; there is
Miladi Creeshe, an English Miladi who is sister-in-law to Milor'
Hawcastle.

RIBIERE [taking notes]. Three English.

MARIANO. There is an American Signorina, Mees Granger-Seempsone. Miladi
Creeshe travel with her to be chaperone. [Enthusiastically.] She is
young, generosa, she give money to every one, she is multa bella, so
pretty, weeth charm--

RIBIERE [puzzled]. You speak now of Lady Creeshe?

MARIANO [taken aback]. Oh no, no, no! Miladi Creeshe is ol' lady
[tapping his ears]. Not hear well. Deaf. No pourboires. Nothing. I speak
of the young American lady, Mees Granger-Seempsone who the English
Honorabile son of Milor' Hawcastle wish to espouse, I think.

RIBIERE. Who else is there?

MARIANO. There is the brother of Mees Granger-Seempsone, a young
gentleman of North America. He make the eyes [laughing] all day at
another lady who is of the party, a French lady, Comtesse de Champigny.
Ha, ha! That amuse' me!

RIBIERE. Why?

MARIANO. Beckoss I think Comtesse de Champigny is a such good friend of
the ol' English Milor' Hawcastle. A maitre d'hotel see many things, an'
I think Milor' Hawcastle and Madame de Champigny have know each other
from long, perhaps. This dejeuner is for them.

RIBIERE. And who else?

MARIANO. It is all.

RIBIERE. Good! no Russians?

MARIANO. I think Milor' Hawcastle and Madame de Champigny have been in
Russia sometime.

RIBIERE [putting his note-book in his pocket]. Why?

MARIANO. Beckoss once I have hear them spik Russian togezzer.

RIBIERE. I think there is small chance that they recognize my employer.
His portrait is little known.

MARIANO. And this North American who come in the automobile--does _he_
know who he travel wiz? Does he know his Highness?

RIBIERE. No more than the baby which is not borned.

MARIANO [lifting his eyes to heaven]. Ah!

RIBIERE [looking at his watch]. Set dejeuner on the terrace instantly
when he arrive: a perch, petit pois, iced figs, tea. I will send his own
caviar and vodka from the supplies I carry.

MARIANO. I set for one?

RIBIERE. For two. He desires that the North American breakfast with him.
Do not forget that the incognito is to be absolute.

[Exit into hotel.]

MARIANO. Va bene, Signore!

[Puts finishing-touches to the table.]

[Enter from the grove, LORD HAWCASTLE. He is a well-preserved man of
fifty-six with close-clipped gray mustache and gray hair; his eyes are
quick and shrewd; his face shows some slight traces of high living; he
carries himself well and his general air is distinguished and high-bred.
He wears a suit of thinly striped white flannel and white shoes, a
four-in-hand tie of pale old-rose crape, a Panama hat with broad ribbon
striped with white and old-rose of the same shade as his tie. His accent
is that of a man of the world, and quite without affectation. He comes
at once upon his entrance to a chair at the table.]

[MICHELE enters at same time up left, with a folded newspaper.]

HAWCASTLE [as he enters]. Good-morning, Mariano!

MARIANO [bowing]. Milor' Hawcastle is serve.

[Takes HAWCASTLE'S hat and places it upon a stool behind table.]

MICHELE [hands HAWCASTLE newspaper from under his arm]. _Il Mattino_,
the morning journal from Napoli, Milor'.

HAWCASTLE [accepting paper and unfolding it]. No English papers?

MICHELE. Milor', the mail is late.

[Exit up left.]

HAWCASTLE [sitting]. And Madame de Champigny?

[MARIANO serves coffee, etc.]

[As HAWCASTLE speaks the COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY enters from hotel. She is
a pretty Frenchwoman of thirty-two. She wears a fashionable summer
Parisian morning dress, light and gay in color, a short-sleeved little
Empire jacket, and long gloves. She carries a parasol. Her elaborately
dressed hair is surmounted by a jaunty Parisian toque.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [lifting her hand gayly as she enters, and striking
a little attitude before she descends the steps]. Me voici!

HAWCASTLE [half rising and bowing]. My esteemed relative is still
asleep?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [speaking gayly, with a very slight accent, as she
crosses to a chair at the table]. I trust your beautiful son has found
much better employment--as our hearts would wish him to.

HAWCASTLE. He has. He's off on a canter with the little American, thank
God!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [interjecting the word]. Bravo!

[She turns the hands of her gloves back and sips coffee, MARIANO
serving.]

HAWCASTLE [continuing]. But I didn't mean Almeric. I meant my august
sister-in-law.

[He reads the paper.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [smiling]. The amiable Lady Victoria Hermione
Trevelyan Creech has dejeuner in her apartment. What you find to read?

HAWCASTLE. I'm such a duffer at Italian, but apparently the people
along the coast are having a scare over an escaped convict--a Russian.

MARIANO [starting slightly, drops a spoon noisily upon a plate on the
table]. Pardon, Milor'!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [setting down her coffee abruptly]. A Russian?

HAWCASTLE [translating with difficulty]. "An escaped Russian bandit has
been traced to Castellamare--"

[Pauses.]

MARIANO [awe-struck]. Castellamare--not twelve kilometres from here!

HAWCASTLE [continuing]. "--and a confidential agent"--[looking
up]--secret-service man, I dare say--"has requested his arrest. But the
brigand tore himself"--[repeating slowly]--"tore himself"--What the
deuce does that mean?

MARIANO [bowing]. Pardon, Milor'--if I might--

HAWCASTLE. Quite right, Mariano!

[Handing him the paper.]

Translate for us.

MARIANO [reading rapidly, but with growing agitation which he tries to
conceal]. "The brigan' tore himself from the hands of the carabiniere
and without the doubts he conceal himself in some of those grotto near
Sorrento and searchment is being execute'. The agent of the Russian
embassy have inform' the bureau that this escaped one is a mos'
in-fay-mose robber and danger brigand."

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [quickly]. What name does the journal say he has?

MARIANO [hurriedly]. It has not to say. That is all. Will Milor' and
Madame la Comtesse excuse me? And may I take the journal? There is one
who should see it.

HAWCASTLE [indifferently]. Very well.

MARIANO. Thank you, Milor'!

[Bows hastily and hurries out up left.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [gravely, drawing back from the table.] I should
like much to know his name.

HAWCASTLE [smiling, and eating composedly]. You may be sure it isn't
Ivanoff.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [not changing her attitude]. How can one know it is
not [pauses and speaks the name very gravely] Ivanoff?

HAWCASTLE [laughing]. He wouldn't be called an infamous brigand.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [very gravely]. That, my friend, may be only Italian
journalism.

HAWCASTLE. Pooh! This means a highwayman--[finishes his coffee
coolly]--not--not an embezzler, Helene.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [taking a deep breath and sinking back in her chair
with a fixed gaze]. I am glad to believe it, but I care for no more to
eat. I have some foolish feeling of unsafety. It is now two nights that
I dream of him--of Ivanoff--bad dreams for us both, my friend.

HAWCASTLE [laughing]. What rot! It takes more than a dream to bring a
man back from Siberia.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Then I pray there has been no more than dreams.

[Music of mandolins and guitars heard off to the right with song--"The
Fisherman's Song."]

[Enter ETHEL gayly and quickly from the grove, her face radiant. She is
a very pretty American girl of twenty. She wears a light-brown linen
skirted coat, fitting closely, and a country riding-skirt of the same
material and color, with boots, a shirt-waist, collar and tie, and
three-cornered hat. She carries a riding-crop. She is followed by three
musicians (two mandolins and a guitar), who laughingly continue the
song. They are shabby fellows, two of them barefooted, wearing shabby,
patched velveteen trousers and blue flannel shirts open at the throat,
with big black hats, old and shapeless. One makes a low and sweeping bow
before ETHEL; she takes money from her glove and gives it to him, the
other two not discontinuing the song; the three immediately 'bout face
and go out gleefully, capering and still singing.]

HAWCASTLE [who has risen]. The divine Miss Granger-Simpson!

ETHEL [with a pronounced "English accent"]. The divinely happy Miss
Granger-Simpson!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [rising, running to her, and kissing her]. Oh, I
hope you mean--

HAWCASTLE [with some excitement in his voice]. You mean you have made my
son divinely happy?

[ETHEL, as he speaks, extricates herself laughingly from MADAME DE
CHAMPIGNY.]

ETHEL. Is not every one happy in Sorrento--[with a wave of her
riding-crop]--even your son?

[Exit laughingly and hurriedly into the hotel.]

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY goes to stool behind table and gets her parasol, as
HAWCASTLE resumes his seat.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Ah! that is good. Listen!

[A piano sounds from the room ETHEL has just entered, breaking loudly
and gayly into Chaminade's "Elevation." ETHEL'S voice is heard for a
moment, also, singing.]

She has flown to her piano. It looks well, indeed--our little
enterprise.

HAWCASTLE [grimly]. It's time. If Almeric had been anything but a clumsy
oof he'd have made her settle it weeks ago!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [quickly]. You are invidious, mon ami! My affair is
not settled--am _I_ a clumsy oof?

HAWCASTLE [leaning toward her across the table and speaking sharply and
earnestly]. No, Helene. _Your_ little American, brother Horace, is so in
love with you, if you asked him suddenly, "Is this day or night?" he
would answer, "It's Helene." But he's too shy to speak. You're a
woman--you can't press matters; but Almeric's a man--he can. He can urge
an immediate marriage, which means an immediate settlement, and a direct
one.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [seriously, quickly]. It will not be small, that
settlement?

[He shakes his head grimly, leaning back to look at her. She continues
eagerly.]

You have decide' what sum?

[He nods decidedly.]

What?

HAWCASTLE [sharply, with determination, yet quietly]. A hundred and
fifty thousand pounds!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [excited and breathless]. My friend! Will she?

[Turns and stares toward ETHEL'S room, where the piano is still heard
softly playing.]

HAWCASTLE. Not for Almeric, but to be the future Countess of Hawcastle.
My sister-in-law hasn't been her chaperone for a year for nothing. And,
by Jove, she hasn't done it for nothing, either!

[He laughs grimly, moving back from the table.]

But she's deserved all I shall allow her.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [coldly]. Why?

HAWCASTLE [rising]. It was she who found these people. Indeed, we might
say that both you and I owe her something also. [Comes around behind
table to MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY.] Even a less captious respectability than
Lady Creech's might have looked askance at the long friendship [kisses
her hand] which has existed between us. Yet she has always countenanced
us, though she must have guessed--a great many things. And she will help
us to urge an immediate marriage. You know as well as I do that unless
it is immediate, there'll be the devil to pay. Don't miss _that_
essential: something must be done at once. We're at the
breaking-point--if you like the words--a most damnable insolvency.

[Enter ALMERIC from the grove. He is a fair, fresh-colored Englishman of
twenty-five, handsome in a rather vacuous way. He wears white duck
riding-breeches, light-tan leather riding-gaiters and shoes, a
riding-coat of white duck, a waistcoat light tan in shade, and a high
riding-stock, the collar of which is white, the "puffed" tie pink; a
Panama hat with a fold of light tan and white silk round the crown.
Carries a riding-crop.]

ALMERIC [as he enters]. Hello, Governor!

[His voice is habitually loud and his accent somewhat foppish, having a
little of the "Guardsman" affectation of languor and indifference.]

Howdy, Countess!

[He drops into a chair at the breakfast-table with a slight effect of
sprawling.]

HAWCASTLE [sharply]. Almeric!

ALMERIC. Out riding a bit ago, you know, with Miss Granger-Simpson.
Rippin' girl, _isn't_ she?

HAWCASTLE [leaning across the table toward him, anxiously]. Go on!

ALMERIC [continuing, slapping his gaiters carelessly with his crop].
Didn't stop with her, though.

HAWCASTLE [angrily]. Why not?

ALMERIC. A sort of man in the village got me to go look at a
bull-terrier pup. Wonderful little beast for points. Jolly
luck--_wasn't_ it? He's got a _head_ on him--

HAWCASTLE [bitterly]. We'll concede his _tremendous_ advantage over you
in that respect.

[Throws his cigar disgustedly into one of the coffee-cups on the table.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [eagerly]. Is that _all_ you have to tell us?

ALMERIC. Oh no! She accepted me.

[HAWCASTLE drops into a chair with a long breath of relief.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [waving her parasol]. Enfin! Bravo! And will she let
it be soon?

ALMERIC [sincerely]. I dare say there'll be no row about that; I've made
her aw'fly happy.

HAWCASTLE. On my soul, I believe you're right--and thank God you are!

[Rises as he speaks and walks up centre. Breaks off short as he sees
HORACE.]

[Illustration: "OH NO! SHE ACCEPTED ME"]

Here's the brother--attention now!

[HORACE enters the hotel. He is a boyish-looking American of twenty-two,
smooth-shaven. He wears white flannels, the coat double-breasted and
buttoned, the tie is light blue "puffing" fastened with a large pearl.
He wears light-yellow chamois gloves, white shoes, a small, stiff
English straw hat with blue-and-white ribbon. When he speaks it is with
a strong "English accent," which he sometimes forgets. At present he is
flushed and almost overcome with happy emotion. As he comes down the
steps MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY rushes toward him, taking both his hands.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [excitedly]. Ah, my dear Horace Granger-Simpson! Has
your sister told you?

HORACE [radiant, but almost tearful]. She has, indeed. I assure you I'm
quite overcome.

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, dropping his hands, laughs deprecatingly, and
steps back from him.]

Really, I assure you.

HAWCASTLE [shaking hands with him very heartily]. My dear young friend,
not at all, not at all.

HORACE [fanning himself with his hat and wiping his brow]. I assure you
I am, I assure you I am--it's quite overpowering--_isn't_ it?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Ah, poor Monsieur Horace!

ALMERIC. I say, don't take it that way, you know. She's very happy.

HORACE [crossing and grasping his hand]. She's worthy of it--she's
worthy of it. I know she is. And when will it be?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Enchanting.

HAWCASTLE. Oh, the date? I dare say within a year--two years--

[COMTESSE starts to exclaim, but HAWCASTLE checks her.]

HORACE. Oh, but I say, you know! Isn't that putting it jolly far off?
The thing's settled, isn't it? Why not say a month instead of a year?

HAWCASTLE. Oh, if you like, I don't know that there is any real
objection.

HORACE. I do like, indeed. Why not let them marry here in Italy?

HAWCASTLE. Ah, the dashing methods of you Americans! Next you'll be
saying, "Why not here at Sorrento?"

HORACE. Well, and why not, indeed?

HAWCASTLE. And then it will be, "Why not within a fortnight?"

HORACE. And why should it not be in a fortnight?

HAWCASTLE. Ah, you wonderful people, you are whirlwinds, yet I see no
reason why it should not be in a fortnight.

ALMERIC [passively]. Just as you like, Governor, just as you like.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Enchanting.

HAWCASTLE. My son is all impatience!

ALMERIC [genially]. Quite so!

HAWCASTLE [gayly]. Shall we dispose at once of the necessary little
details, the various minor arrangements, the--the settlement?

[Interrupts himself with a friendly laugh.]

Of course, as a man of the world, of _our_ world, you understand there
_are_ formalities in the nature of a settlement.

HORACE [interrupting eagerly and pleasantly, laughing also]. Quite so,
of course, I know, certainly, perfectly!

HAWCASTLE [heartily]. We'll have no difficulty about _that_, my boy.
I'll wire my solicitor immediately, and he'll be here within two days.
If you wish to consult your own solicitor you can cable him.

HORACE [with some embarrassment]. Fact is, I've a notion our
solicitor--Ethel's man of business, that is--from Kokomo, Indiana, where
our Governor lived--in fact, a sort of guardian of hers--may be here
almost any time.

HAWCASTLE [taken aback]. A sort of guardian--_what_ sort?

HORACE [apologetically]. I really can't say. Never saw him that I know
of. You see, we've been on this side so many years, and there's been no
occasion for this fellow to look us up, but he's never opposed anything
Ethel wrote for; he seems to be an easygoing old chap.

HAWCASTLE [anxiously]. But would his consent to your sister's
marriage--or the matter of a settlement--be a necessity?

HORACE [easily]. Oh, I dare say; but if he has the slightest sense of
duty toward my sister, he'll be the first to welcome the alliance, won't
he?

HAWCASTLE [reassured]. Then when my solicitor comes, he and your man can
have an evening over a lot of musty papers and the thing will be done.
Again, my boy [taking HORACE'S hand], I welcome you to our family. God
bless you!

HORACE. I'm overpowered, you know--really overpowered.

[Fans himself again and wipes his forehead.]

HAWCASTLE. Come, Almeric.

[Aside to MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, whom he joins for a moment.]

Let him know it's a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

[Exit into hotel, followed immediately by ALMERIC.]

[HORACE turns toward MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY; she gives him both hands.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [smiling]. My friend, I am happy for you.

HORACE [joyously]. Think of it, at the most a fortnight, and dear old
Ethel will be the Honorable Mrs. St. Aubyn, future Countess of
Hawcastle!

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, lightly, at the same time withdrawing her hands
and picking up her parasol from the chair where she has left it.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Yes, there is but those little arrangement over the
settlement paper between your advocate and Lord Hawcastle's; but you
Americans--you laugh at such things. You are big, so big, like your
country!

HORACE. Ah, believe me, the great world, the world of yourself,
Countess, has thoroughly alienated me.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [coming close to him, looking at him admiringly].
Ah, you retain one quality! You are big, you are careless, you are
free.

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