ETHEL.  He is the Earl of Hawcastle, the head of the ancient house.

PIKE.  And he asks you for your property—­asks you for it in so many words?

ETHEL.  As a settlement!

PIKE [aghast].  And your young man knows it?

ETHEL.  I tell you I have not discussed it with Mr. St. Aubyn.

PIKE [emphatically].  I reckon not!  Well, sir, do you know what’s the first thing Mr. St. Aubyn will do when he hears his father’s made such a proposition to you?  He’ll take the old man out in the back lot and give him a thrashing he won’t forget to the day of his death!

[The roll of drums is heard, distant, as if sounding below the cliff; bugle sounds at the same time.]

[MARIANO and MICHELE run hurriedly from the hotel and lean over balustrade at back, as if watching something below the cliff.]

[RIBIERE enters quickly with them, takes one quick glance in same direction, and hurries off.]

[PIKE and ETHEL, surprised, turn to look.]

MARIANO [calling to ETHEL as he enters].  A bandit of Russia,
Mademoiselle!  The soldiers think he hide in a grotto under the cliff!

[ALMERIC comes on rapidly from the hotel, carrying a shot-gun.]

ALMERIC [enthusiastically, as he enters].  Oh, I say, fair sport, by
Jove!  Fair sport!

PIKE [to ETHEL, indicating ALMERIC, chuckling].  I saw him on the road here—­what’s he meant for?

ALMERIC.  Think I’ll have a chance to pot the beggar, Michele?

[He joins MICHELE at balustrade.]

MICHELE.  No, Signore, there are two companies of carabiniere.

[PIKE, delighted, chuckles aloud.]

ETHEL [angry, calling].  Almeric!

ALMERIC [turning].  Hallo!

ETHEL [frigidly].  I wish to present my guardian to you. [To PIKE.] This is Mr. St. Aubyn.

[Illustration:  THIS IS MR. ST. AUBYN]

ALMERIC [coming down].  Hallo, though!  It’s the donkey man, isn’t it?  How very odd!  You’ll have to see the Governor and our solicitor about the settlement.  I’ve some important business here.  The police are chasing a bally convict chap under the cliffs over yonder, so you’ll have to excuse me.  I’ll have to be toddling.

[Goes up to terrace wall overlooking cliffs.]

You know there’s nothing like a little convict shooting to break the blooming monotony—­what?

[The bugle sounds.  ALMERIC turns and rushes off.]

Wait for me, you fellows!  Don’t hurt him till I get there!

[His voice dies away in the distance.]

PIKE [turning to ETHEL with slow horror]. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for—­How much do they charge over here for a real man?

[She is unable to meet his eye.  She turns, with flaming cheeks, and runs into the hotel.  He stands staring after her, incredulous, dumfounded, in a frozen attitude.]