The Man from Home Part 5

[She perceives ETHEL'S entrance over HORACE'S shoulder, and at once runs to her, embraces her, and kisses her, crying.]

Largesse, sweet Countess of Hawcastle! Largesse! and au revoir! Adieu! I leave you with your dear brother. A rivederci.

[She runs gayly out, waving her parasol to them as she goes.]

HORACE [going to ETHEL]. Dear old sis, dear old pal!

[Affectionately gives her hand a squeeze and drops it.]

ETHEL [radiant]. Isn't it glorious, Hoddy!

HORACE. The others are almost as pleased as we are.

[He leans back in chair, knees crossed, hands clasped over knees, and regards her proudly.]

ETHEL [opens the books she carries, laying them on one of the tea-tables]. This is Burke's _Peerage_, and this is Froissart's _Chronicles_. I've been reading it all over again--the St. Aubyns at Crecy and Agincourt [with an exalted expression], and St. Aubyn will be _my_ name!

HORACE [smiling]. They want it to be your name _soon_, sis.

ETHEL [suddenly thoughtful, speaks appealingly]. _You're_ fond of Almeric, aren't you, Hoddy--_you_ admire him, don't you?

HORACE. Certainly. Think of all he represents.

ETHEL [enthusiastically]. Ah, yes! Crusader's blood flows in his veins.

It is to the n.o.bility that _must_ be within him that I have plighted my troth. I am ready to marry him when they wish.

HORACE. Then as soon as the settlement is arranged. It'll take about all your share of the estate, sis, but it's worth it--a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

ETHEL [earnestly]. What better use could be made of a fortune than to maintain the state and high condition of so ancient a house?

HORACE. Doesn't it seem impossible that we were born in Indiana!

[He speaks seriously, as if the thing were incredible.]

ETHEL [smiling]. But isn't it good that the pater "made his pile," as the Americans say, and let us come over here when we were young to find the n.o.bler things, Hoddy--the _n.o.bler_ things!

HORACE. The n.o.bler things--the n.o.bler things, sis. When old Hawcastle dies I'll be saying, quite off-hand, you know, "My sister, the Countess of Hawcastle--"

ETHEL [thoughtfully]. You don't suppose that father's friend, my guardian, this old Mr. Pike, will be--will be QUEER, do you?

HORACE. Well, the governor himself was rather _raw_, you know. This is probably a harmless enough old chap--easy to handle--

ETHEL. I wish I knew. I shouldn't like Almeric's family to think we had queer connections of any sort--and he might turn out to be quite shockingly American [with genuine pathos]. I--I couldn't bear it, Hoddy.

HORACE. Then keep him out of the way. That's simple enough. None of them, except the solicitor, need see him.

[Instantly upon this there is a tremendous though distant commotion beyond the hotel--wild laughter and cheers, the tarantella played by mandolins and guitars, also sung, shouts of "Bravo Americano!" and "Yanka Dooda!" The noise continues and increases gradually.]

ETHEL [as the uproar begins]. What is that?

HORACE. Must be a mob.

[LADY CREECH, fl.u.s.tered and hot, enters from the hotel. She is a haughty, cross-looking woman in the sixties.]

ETHEL [going to LADY CREECH, speaks close to her ear and loudly]. Lady Creech--dear Lady Creech--what is the trouble?

LADY CREECH. Some horrible people coming to this hotel! They've made a riot in the village.

[The noise becomes suddenly louder. MARIANO, immediately upon LADY CREECH'S entrance, appears in hotel doors, makes a quick gesture toward breakfast-table, and withdraws.]

[MICHELE, laughing, immediately enters by same doors, goes rapidly to the breakfast-table and clears it. The others pay no attention to this.]

HORACE [at steps up left]. It's not a riot--it's a revolution.

LADY CREECH [sinking into a chair, angrily]. One of your horrid fellow-countrymen, my dear. Your Americans are really too--

ETHEL [proudly]. Not _my_ Americans, Lady Creech!

HORACE. Not _ours_, you know. One could hardly say that, _could_ one?

ALMERIC [heard outside laughing]. Oh, I say, what a go! [Enters from the hotel, laughing.] Motor-car breaks down on the way here; one of the Johnnies in it, a German, discharges the chauffeur; and the other Johnny [he throws himself sprawling into a chair], one of your Yankee chaps, Ethel, hires two silly little donkeys, like rabbits, you know, to pull the machine the rest of the way here. Then as they can't make it, by Jove, you know, he puts himself in the straps with the donkeys, and proceeds, attended by the populace. Ha, ha! I say!

[HORACE, gloomy, comes down and sits at tea-table.]

LADY CREECH [angrily, to ALMERIC]. Don't mumble your words, Almeric. I never understand people when they mumble their words.

[RIBIERE, who looks anxious, appears in the hotel doorway, then stands aside on the stoop for MARIANO and MICHELE; they enter and pa.s.s him with trays, fresh cloth, etc., for table down right, which they rapidly proceed to set. A valet de chambre enters up left, following them immediately. He carries a tray with a silver dish of caviar and a bottle of vodka. As he enters he hesitates for one moment, looking inquiringly at RIBIERE, who motions him quickly toward MARIANO and MICHELE, and withdraws. Valet rapidly crosses right to table, sets caviar and vodka on the table, and exits up left. The others pay no attention to any of this.]

ALMERIC. I went up to this Yankee chap, I mean to say--he was pullin'

and tuggin' along, you see, don't you?--and I said, "There you are, three of you all in a row, _aren't_ you?"--meanin' him and the two donkeys, Ethel, you see.

LADY CREECH [who has been leaning close to ALMERIC to listen]. Dreadful person!

ALMERIC [continuing]. All he could answer was that he'd picked the best company in sight.

ETHEL [annoyed, half under her breath]. Impertinent!

ALMERIC. No meanin' to it. I had him, you know, I rather think, didn't I?

[HAWCASTLE enters with MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, a number of folded newspapers under his arm. Simultaneously loud cheers are heard from the village and a general renewal of the commotion.]

HAWCASTLE. Disgusting uproar!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [to ETHEL]. But we know that such Americans are not of your cla.s.s, cherie.

ETHEL. A dreadful person, I quite fear.

HAWCASTLE. The English papers.