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 un.o.bserved, 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 h.e.l.l 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.]