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,