HORACE [joyously]. Think of it, at the most a fortnight, and dear old
Ethel will be the Honorable Mrs. St. Aubyn, future Countess of
Hawcastle!

[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, lightly, at the same time withdrawing her hands
and picking up her parasol from the chair where she has left it.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Yes, there is but those little arrangement over the
settlement paper between your advocate and Lord Hawcastle's; but you
Americans--you laugh at such things. You are big, so big, like your
country!

HORACE. Ah, believe me, the great world, the world of yourself,
Countess, has thoroughly alienated me.

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [coming close to him, looking at him admiringly].
Ah, you retain one quality! You are big, you are careless, you are
free.

[She lays her right hand on his left arm. He takes her hand with his
right hand. They stand facing each other.]

HORACE [smiling]. Well, perhaps, in _those_ things I am American, but in
others I fancy I should be thought something else, shouldn't I?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [earnestly]. You are a debonair man of the great
world; and yet you are still American, in that you are ab-om-i-nab-ly
rich. [She laughs sweetly.] The settlement--Such matter as that, over
which a Frenchman, an Italian, an Englishman might hesitate, you laugh!