[Enter Ethel gayly and quickly from the grove, her face radiant.  She is a very pretty American girl of twenty.  She wears a light-brown linen skirted coat, fitting closely, and a country riding-skirt of the same material and color, with boots, a shirt-waist, collar and tie, and three-cornered hat.  She carries a riding-crop.  She is followed by three musicians (two mandolins and a guitar), who laughingly continue the song.  They are shabby fellows, two of them barefooted, wearing shabby, patched velveteen trousers and blue flannel shirts open at the throat, with big black hats, old and shapeless.  One makes a low and sweeping bow before Ethel; she takes money from her glove and gives it to him, the other two not discontinuing the song; the three immediately ’bout face and go out gleefully, capering and still singing.]

Hawcastle [who has risen].  The divine Miss Granger-Simpson!

Ethel [with a pronounced “English accent"].  The divinely happy Miss Granger-Simpson!

Madame de Champigny [rising, running to her, and kissing her].  Oh, I hope you mean—­

Hawcastle [with some excitement in his voice].  You mean you have made my son divinely happy?

[Ethel, as he speaks, extricates herself laughingly from Madame de Champigny.]

Ethel.  Is not every one happy in Sorrento—­[with a wave of her riding-crop]—­even your son?

[Exit laughingly and hurriedly into the hotel.]

[Madame de Champigny goes to stool behind table and gets her parasol, as Hawcastle resumes his seat.]

Madame de Champigny.  Ah! that is good.  Listen!

[A piano sounds from the room Ethel has just entered, breaking loudly and gayly into Chaminade’s “Elevation.”  Ethel’s voice is heard for a moment, also, singing.]

She has flown to her piano.  It looks well, indeed—­our little enterprise.

Hawcastle [grimly].  It’s time.  If Almeric had been anything but a clumsy oof he’d have made her settle it weeks ago!

Madame de Champigny [quickly].  You are invidious, mon ami!  My affair is not settled—­am I a clumsy oof?

Hawcastle [leaning toward her across the table and speaking sharply and earnestly].  No, Helene. Your little American, brother Horace, is so in love with you, if you asked him suddenly, “Is this day or night?” he would answer, “It’s Helene.”  But he’s too shy to speak.  You’re a woman—­you can’t press matters; but Almeric’s a man—­he can.  He can urge an immediate marriage, which means an immediate settlement, and a direct one.

Madame de Champigny [seriously, quickly].  It will not be small, that settlement?

[He shakes his head grimly, leaning back to look at her.  She continues eagerly.]