ETHEL.  Part of it would go to the restoration of Hawcastle Hall and part to Glenwood Priory.

PIKE.  Glenwood Priory?

ETHEL.  That is part of the estate where Almeric and I will live until
Lord Hawcastle’s death.

PIKE.  Then mighty little settlement would come around “Glenwood Priory”!

[Speaks the name as though grimly amused, and continues.]

And this old lady—­this Mrs. Creech you been travelling with—­

ETHEL [sharply].  Lady Creech!

PIKE.  All right!  Don’t you think she’s counting on it?  And this French lady that’s with them; isn’t she trying to land your brother?  The whole crowd is on the track of John Simpson’s money.

ETHEL.  Silence!  You have no right to traduce them.  Do you place no value upon heredity, upon high birth?

PIKE.  Why, I think so much of it that I know John Simpson’s daughter doesn’t need anybody else’s to help her out.

[He comes toward her, looking at her with honest admiration.]

She’s fine enough and I think she’s sweet enough—­and I know from the way she goes for me that she’s brave enough—­to stand on her own feet!

ETHEL.  This is beside the point; I know exactly what I want in life—­[she has been somewhat moved by his last speech, is agitated, and a little breathless]—­and I could not change now if it were otherwise.  I gave Almeric my promise, it was forever, and I shall keep it.

PIKE.  But you can’t; I’m not going to let you.

ETHEL.  I throw your interference to the winds.  I shall absolutely disregard it.  I shall marry without your consent.

PIKE [looking at her steadily].  Do you think they’d let you?

ETHEL [in same tone].  I think you’ll let me [laughing], especially after this terrible letter.

PIKE.  By-the-way, did you finish it?

[ETHEL looks at the letter, which she has continued to hold in her hand.]

ETHEL.  I think so. [Turns the page.] No—­it says “over.”

[She turns the sheet—­looks at it attentively for a moment—­looks up, casts a quick glance of astonishment at PIKE.]

PIKE.  Well, read it, please!

ETHEL.  It appears to concern a matter quite personal to yourself.

[Embarrassed, assuming carelessness.  Turns toward left as if to leave, replacing the letter in the envelope.]

PIKE [advancing to her, smiling].  I don’t think I’ve got any secrets.

ETHEL [coldly].  Please remember, I have not read anything on the last page.

PIKE.  Well, neither have I.

[Reaching his hand for the letter.]

ETHEL [more embarrassed].  Oh!

[She drops the letter on the bench.]

[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from envelope.  She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once.  PIKE, taking the letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her.  At this she is flustered and starts, but halts at sound of the “Fishermen’s Song” in the distance.  The sunset is deepening to golden red; the “Fishermen’s Song” begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are heard together.]