PIKE [in a clear voice, looking at her mildly].  Make something out of her—­yes, ma’am!

LADY CREECH [quickly].  Make something better of her.  We offer her this alliance with a family which for seven hundred years—­

PIKE.  Yes, ma’am—­Crecy and Agincourt—­I know.

LADY CREECH.  With a family never sullied by those low ideals of barter and exchange which are the governing impulses of your countrymen.

PIKE.  Seven hundred years—­[fumbling in coat-pocket]—­why, look here,
Mrs. Creech!

[At this LADY CREECH half rises from her chair with a profound shudder, sinks back again; PIKE continues.]

I’ve got a letter right here [takes letter from pocket] that tells me your brother-in-law was in business—­and I respect him for it—­only a few years ago.

LADY CREECH [angrily].  A letter from whom?

PIKE.  Jim Cooley, our vice-consul in London.  Jim ain’t the wisest man in the world, but he seems to have this all right, and he says Mr. Hawcastle—­

LADY CREECH [exploding]. Mr. Hawcastle!

PIKE [placatingly].  Well, I can call a person Colonel or Cap or Doc or anything of that kind, but I just plain don’t know how to use the kind of words you have over here for those things.  They don’t seem to fit my mouth, somehow.  Just let me run on my own way.  I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.  Anyway, Jim says your brother-in-law was in business in Russia.

[Up to this point he has gone on rapidly, but after the word “Russia” he pauses abruptly as if startled by a sudden thought and slowly repeats.]

“In business in Russia!”

[He rises.]

LADY CREECH.  This is beside the point entirely!

PIKE.  It is the point!  Now, between us, ain’t Jim right?  Ain’t it the truth?

LADY CREECH [angry and agitated].  Since some of your vulgar American officials have been spying about—­

PIKE [with controlled excitement].  Your brother-in-law was in business in Russia; so far, so good.

[Leans upon back of chair watching her, eager, but smiling cordially.]

I don’t say he was peddling shoe-strings on the corner or selling weinerwursts—­

[LADY CREECH gives a slight scream of indignation.]

PIKE [continuing].  Probably something more hifalutin’ and dignified than that.  He was probably agent for a wooden butter-dish factory.

LADY CREECH [enraged].  He had contracts with the Russian government itself!

PIKE (staggering back, recovers himself immediately, and, speaking sharply, but in a voice of great agitation). Not for mining—­not for hydraulic machines!

LADY CREECH.  And even so he protected the historic name of St. Aubyn.

PIKE.  By God, I believe you!

LADY CREECH.  Don’t mumble your words!

PIKE.  Had he ever lived at Glenwood Priory?