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.
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