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.
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