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 ItilSUI 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. C.5 & Copyright No. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 A Drama of To-day. 
 
 in five acts. 
 
 / BY 
 
 SAMUEL SILVERBURG. 
 
 THE NEELY COMPANY, 
 
 PUBLISHERS, 
 NEW YORK. CHICAGO. LONDON. 
 
 1 
 
72585 
 
 NOV 8 1900 
 
 Copyn'gftt entry 
 
 SECOND COPY, 
 OftDb*D!ViSION, 
 
 li'OV 23 iQnn 
 
 f5£3 
 
 5r»7 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 
 by 
 
 SAMUEL SILVERBURG 
 
 in 
 
 the 
 
 United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. Parlors of the Hotel Glenalvon, New 
 York. As curtain rises Adelaide is discovered 
 seated at piano. She plays a few bars abstract- 
 edly. Air, "Ileimweh." 
 
 Adelaide: Ah! that strain! How it clings! 
 Why can I not forget? Why will the old, sad 
 memories linger ? Why come, now that I am free, 
 to blur the hope of future peace of mind ? Heim- 
 weh! "Longings of home!" Home! What is 
 home to me? Husband — child — yet no home. 
 The word a misnomer in his presence, and out of 
 it a poignant unreality. Him I could forget — 
 perhaps an easy task — but my child, my darling 
 Violet, how shall I endure to be forever apart from 
 her? (Rises and comes down.) What is she do- 
 ing now? Is she gay? Is she happy? Is she 
 well — ill — does she miss me — call for "dear mam- 
 
 5 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ma" ? What does he tell her — how explain my ab- 
 sence — how satisfy her childish questionings? 
 Does he teach her to love or hate the mother, who 
 through a father's cruelty alone has abandoned 
 her ? Oh ! cease, cease, brain ! Let me forget all ! 
 Do not drive me to madness ! Yes ! yes ! I shall 
 forget! I shall forget! (Turns toward piano.) 
 Music ! Art ! To thee I look ! Thou wilt fill 
 the void! Thou shalt be husband — child— all to 
 me! (Seats herself at piano and plays softly.) 
 
 Enter Pearl. 
 
 Pearl (pauses and loohs disappointedly at 
 Adelaide): There she is, utterly unconcerned! 
 Isn't she provoking! Dear me, Mrs. Lester, you 
 are a — a — sphynx — yes! a veritable sphynx! No 
 word — no sign to show you are the least bit ex- 
 cited! The rest of the household is in a perfect 
 ferment — everybody on the qui vive of expectation 
 — mamma and I as fidgetty as a couple of old 
 maids, while you — oh, Mrs. Immovable Lester, 
 how can you — be — so — calm? 
 
 Adelaide (affecting indifference) : What can 
 it be that has disturbed the serenity of my sweet 
 Pearl's angelic temper? 
 
 Pearl: Angelic temper! Oh, you never saw 
 
 6 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 me in a rage! But — continue to feign ignorance 
 of what is going to happen, and I will not answer 
 for the consequences! Now, do, Mrs. Lester, ex- 
 hibit a woman's curiosity! — ask some questions — 
 utter some sound ! 
 
 Adelaide : Well ? 
 
 Pearl : Well ! A sound indeed — and nothing 
 more! Now listen. His steamer arrived this 
 morning. Word came post haste, or telephone 
 haste, to be exact, that he would be here this even- 
 ing. Perhaps his cab even now is at the door. 
 Think! he may at this very instant be ascending 
 the steps ! Why, I am all in a flutter ! And don't 
 you think he will feel strange? He 
 
 Adelaide : Who ? 
 
 Pearl: Why, the Count, of course! Tanta- 
 lizer ! Come, now, Mrs. Lester, please be serious. 
 Tell me truly, has a real French nobleman with a 
 pedigree 
 
 Adelaide : As long as a comet's tail no charms 
 for me, eh? (Laughing heartily.) What deli- 
 cious naivete ! Why, my dear pet, don't you know 
 that all men are alike? That titles and pedigree 
 make them no less nor more than mere pitiful 
 clay? I hope my dear Pearl is not going to fall 
 into the pernicious habit of hyperbole in describ- 
 ing a man. 
 
 7 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Pearl (ruefully) : I described no one. You — 
 you denied me the pleasure. Permit me, first, to 
 express myself. Then, if you find fault with my 
 romanticism, scold me. But please, Mrs. Lester, 
 don't break in at the most critical and interesting 
 period. 
 
 Adelaide: There, there, I beg your pardon, 
 dear Pearl. I was rude. Now, provided my 
 amende honorable is accepted, proceed. In glow- 
 ing terms tell of the superexcellences possessed by 
 this peerless son of France. I am all impatience. 
 
 Pearl : First, he is decidedly handsome. 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. 
 
 Pearl: Second, his family is among the 
 wealthiest in all France. 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. 
 
 Pearl : Third, his lineage is second to none 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. 
 
 Pearl : Dating back, oh, I don't know how far 
 into the Middle Ages. 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. 
 
 Pearl: Fourth, if the monarchy, so mamma 
 says, is ever restored, the Count will be one of the 
 first men of France. 
 
 Adelaide : Anything else ? 
 
 Pearl : That's all just now. Tell me what you 
 think of him. 
 
 8 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide: From your description? It is in- 
 sufficient. You said not one word about his per- 
 sonal character — the very crown of all. A man 
 may be handsome, rich, titled — yet lacking in the 
 one immortal thing that stamps him a real man — 
 high character. The Count's true worth must be 
 sifted from amid the dross of high estate and per- 
 sonal appearance. 
 
 Pearl: Are you not severe, Mrs. Lester? 
 
 Adelaide: Sincere, my dear, not severe. The 
 Count may be all you think him — and more. But 
 worldly wisdom says draw no premature conclu- 
 sions. In the glamour of a meaningless title 
 many young girls see visions of an ideal exist- 
 ence. Sad experience has in some cases shattered 
 this idol. But others have yet to learn the lesson. 
 I speak thus plainly to you, dear Pearl, because I 
 love you. You will forgive my frankness, will 
 you not ? 
 
 Pearl : Indeed, Mrs. Lester, I thank you. You 
 are very kind. Perhaps I have been just a trifle 
 carried away by appearances; but, believe me, not 
 seriously 
 
 Adelaide: I am certain of that. When was 
 your first meeting with the Count? 
 
 Pearl: At Nice, six months ago. Both the 
 ridiculous and romantic mingled at our introduc- 
 
 9 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 tion. It was this way. Mamma and I were out 
 driving, and while still quite a distance from our 
 hotel it suddenly began to rain. Gracious ! how it 
 did pour ! Our coachman jumped down and tried 
 to adjust the coach top, but it had become fixed 
 and he was unable to raise it. Wholly unprepared 
 for such an emergency, the day being fine when 
 we started, mamma and I stood helpless in the 
 drenching rain. But, as in every well-regulated 
 romance, the hero was near. A closed coupe 
 dashes up, a gentleman quickly alights and po- 
 litely proffers the use of his vehicle. It was no 
 time for hesitation or apologies, I can assure you. 
 Like mice mamma and I scampered to reach the 
 haven of refuge. Of course the gentleman was the 
 Count. With him was his younger brother. Fif- 
 teen minutes later we arrived at the hotel, slightly 
 damp, our furbelows rather disarranged, but we 
 were none the worse for the little adventure. 
 Mamma exacted a promise from the Count to re- 
 turn the next day, so we might again thank him 
 for his providential appearance. He called and be- 
 came quite friendly. He speaks English fluently. 
 That was opportune, as mamma speaks no French. 
 He is perfectly charming ! 
 
 Adelaide: We will hope that good manners, 
 education, and agreeableness are peculiar to no one 
 
 10 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 class or nationality. Even in our country, be- 
 lieved by some to be the home of the vulgar, there 
 are indeed men who combine these self-same at- 
 tributes. But to our mouton, as the French say. 
 The Count comes for a reason — a good one. Is it 
 not to press his suit in propria persona to the 
 lovely Miss Pearl Westholme ? 
 
 Pearl: Eeally, Mrs. Lester, I — why, such a 
 thought never entered my mind. 
 
 Adelaide: Innocence! You know he does! 
 Well? 
 
 Pearl : Well ! Ask mamma. 
 
 Adelaide: Ask mamma! You digress, my 
 dear. He wants to marry you. Do you affect 
 him? 
 
 Pearl: Truly, Mrs. Lester, your question is 
 unanswerable. I scarcely know the Count. He 
 was friendly with us, but far from intimate. He 
 never obtruded himself upon me, and I have not 
 the slightest idea of his sentiments. 
 
 Adelaide: Then I will enlighten you. He is 
 the willing victim of an American girl's charms. 
 He comes now, carrying his heart in his hand, to 
 lay it at her feet. 
 
 Pearl: Oh, dear! (Suddenly:) Mrs. Lester, 
 why do you not remarry ? . 
 
 XX 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide : I ? Why, I — I — oh, pshaw ! What 
 a question ! At my age 
 
 (Adelaide, who has been seated on divan, rises 
 and crosses stage.) 
 
 Pearl (seated) : At your age? You said 
 you were but twenty-six. 
 
 Adelaide : True, but since he — he died my 
 
 inclinations run in a different channel. Music 
 and the stage now absorb my future hopes. I shall 
 not marry again. 
 
 Pearl (musingly) : It is all so strange. 
 
 Adelaide : What ? 
 
 Pearl: Your decision. A woman like you, 
 Mrs. Lester, seems so out of place on the stage. I 
 can think of you only as queen of some noble man's 
 heart — never as a mimic queen to delight the 
 careless public. I am so drawn to you, dear Mrs. 
 Lester. (Crosses to Adelaide and puts her arm 
 around her waist.) You are so different from the 
 frivolous women one often meets in society — so 
 serious, so earnest, so sincere. You always make 
 me think of the deep, placid ocean. And you had 
 no children? 
 
 Adelaide: IST-o-o. None. (Turns her face to 
 conceal her agitation.) 
 
 Pearl : The sweet creatures ! You love them, 
 don't you? 
 
 12 
 
J..V AM ERIC IN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide (disengaging herself from Peart/3 
 embrace) : I am a woman. (■ back,) 
 
 Pearl (going close to Adelaide) : Yes, yes, 
 I understand. Ah, dear Mrs. Lester, yon will 
 marry again — yon must ! God will not a second 
 time deny your prayer. He giveth unto the lowli- 
 est. Did He not say, "Suffer little children to 
 come unto me" ? How could they come unto Him 
 unless He blessedly gave them to us ? (Adelaide, 
 overcome by emotion, stifles a cry and sinks on 
 divan.) Why. Urs. Lester, you are ill. Let me 
 
 Adelaide (rising with an effort) : It is noth- 
 ing, dear Pearl, I assure you! A mere passing 
 weakness. I have not been well and — the air is 
 close. (Goes to door.) Xow I am better. (S 
 in rocker.) Of what were we speaking? Oh, yes ! 
 (Pauses.) Ha! ha! ha! (Laughs forcedly.) 
 Excuse me, one of Mr. Seabury s quaint sayings 
 came into my mind. Isn't he eccentric ? 
 
 Pearl : Yerv. He amuses me greatlv. Sure- 
 ly the Count has arrived. Expect me in a mo- 
 ment. (Exit.) 
 
 Adelaide : Lies — lies — lies ! Ever the penalty 
 of a false position ! That dear girl trusts me — 
 loves me ! How she would despise me did she 
 know the truth! I cannot — I must not tell her! 
 
 13 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Let me still be to her, at least, the good, earnest, 
 exalted woman, whatever I may be in the judg- 
 ment of the world. She 
 
 Reenter Pearl. 
 
 Pearl (coming doivn) : How provoking ! Un- 
 less he joins ns in precisely ten minutes I shall 
 cut his acquaintance. There ! 
 
 Adelaide: Do not be impatient, dear. Is no 
 one else in this house worthy to occupy your 
 thoughts — I mean among the men ? 
 
 Pearl (sits, divan) : Who? 
 
 Adelaide: Mr. Widdeston, for instance. 
 
 Pearl: Mamma likes him 
 
 Adelaide : And you ? 
 
 Pearl : I think him a perfect gentleman. 
 
 Adelaide : His estimate of you is not based on 
 a mere abstraction. 
 
 Pearl: What can he see in me? 
 
 Adelaide : The most adorable of onr sex ! Ah, 
 little witch, know your own sway over the male 
 heart ere it bring fell disaster to one or more ! 
 He flatters himself his admiration is unobserved. 
 
 Pearl: Do you jest, Mrs. Lester? 
 
 Adelaide : No, indeed. The subject is far too 
 serious to be treated lightly. Be careful of your 
 
 14 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 smiles when the Count comes, or truly I shall fear 
 the worst. 
 
 Pearl : Fear the worst ! You alarm me ! 
 
 Adelaide : There will be no duel, I can prom- 
 ise you. That method of settling heart affairs is, 
 you know, obsolete in this country. Your own 
 choice will decide the question. Now, tell me, 
 who is this wonderful Delamere who comes this 
 evening ? 
 
 Pearl: He was here once before, and played 
 and sang for us. He is an exquisite performer, 
 and sings beautifully. Mrs. Hartley has always 
 spoken very highly of him. 
 
 Adelaide : It is her ultra-championship of the 
 gentleman's pretensions that has aroused my curi- 
 osity. Handsome, talented, versatile, witty, all in 
 the superlative degree, presupposes a very para- 
 gon. I confess I am skeptical. Does the age 
 afford nourishment for so rare a product? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Westholme escorting the Count de 
 Lempriere. 
 
 Pearl (jumping up) : Here's mamma and the 
 Count ! 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: Mrs. Lester, Count Emile 
 de Lempriere. (Adelaide bows.) 
 
 15 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (The Count advances to Pearl, holding out his 
 hand, while Mrs. Westholme and Adelaide 
 stand aside and engage in business of conversa- 
 tion.) 
 
 Count: This is indeed a pleasure! I have 
 looked forward to it for months ! How delightful 
 to be again on terra firma among friends ! You 
 have, mademoiselle, changed — for the better — 
 more than I can express ! 
 
 Pearl: I thank you, Count. Did you have a 
 pleasant voyage ? 
 
 Count: Very. Clear skies and unruffled seas 
 day after day, yet the sail seemed long. It was 
 my impatience. Ah ! you can understand the rea- 
 son! 
 
 Pearl: We shall study, Count, to make your 
 stay pleasant. Then perhaps you will forget the 
 separation from your native land. 
 
 Count: La belle France! We love our own 
 country! That is natural. But I shall feel at 
 home here. Already I am charmed ! New York, 
 the Paris of the New World ! How grand is your 
 harbor ! How mighty your shipping ! How noble 
 your bridge! How imposing that great work of 
 my countryman — your statue of Liberty! Gaz- 
 ing, my breast received the thrill ! It is sublime ! 
 
 16 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Fit, indeed, to symbolize the friendship of two 
 great countries ! Ah ! It is all fine — all fine ! 
 
 Pearl: You are enthusiastic, Count. 
 
 Count : The subject deserves it. Nothing stirs 
 the heart like the achievements of nations. France 
 has done much for civilization. America, too, has 
 done much. But in art — in art my country leads 
 the world. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme (approaching) : Few will 
 dispute that, Count. Which reminds me that a 
 countrywoman of yours has just taken New York 
 by storm. I refer to Mademoiselle Eloise Cham- 
 bertin. 
 
 Count: Yes, I have seen her. She is a tra- 
 gedienne of magnificent power. Her greatest 
 creation I have not yet witnessed. I was in Italy 
 at its premier. When I returned to Paris — ma 
 foil your American managers are like the light- 
 ning ! A fabulous offer by cable, and before we 
 awake, almost, our first artist is in America ! 
 
 Adelaide: Which proves simply, Count, that 
 even if art does not originate here, we must have 
 it at any price. 
 
 Count (smiling) : Indeed, that is true. It is 
 well said. True art will yet rise in America. 
 
 Adelaide : We sincerely hope so, Count. 
 
 17 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Hartley and Delamere. Adelaide 
 and Delamere both start at sight of each 
 other. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley : Ladies, Mr. Delamere. Count, 
 Mr. Delamere. !STow I will ask you to enter the 
 music-room. Some of our friends have already 
 preceded us. 
 
 (The Count goes out with Mrs. Westholme and 
 Pearl, one on each arm.) 
 
 Mrs. Lester, Mr. Delamere is a very brilliant 
 musician. More than that, in fact — he is an art- 
 ist. He plays and sings his own compositions, 
 writing both the words and music. His playing is 
 divine and his voice is melody itself. 
 
 Delamere: Mrs. Hartley praises me far be- 
 yond my desert. You shall judge for yourself, 
 Mrs. Lester. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley : I must go in. We shall await 
 your pleasure, Mr. Delamere. (Exit.) 
 
 Delamere (after a short pause) : This is an 
 amazing transformation! What does it mean? 
 
 Adelaide: Simply this — I have left my hus- 
 band. 
 
 Delamere : Left Frank ? 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. You have heard nothing from 
 him? 
 
 18 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere : Nothing. As you are aware, I flit 
 from place to place. Letters never reach me till 
 the news is stale. Tell me of the trouble. 
 
 Adelaide : Why should I hesitate ? You have 
 ever been his most trusted friend. But your new 
 role — your change of name 
 
 Delamere: Has no particular significance. 
 The pseudonym of Delamere was adopted purely 
 for professional reasons. Now, about yourself. 
 
 Adelaide : It is a difficult subject. You know 
 my husband. His is a complex character not 
 easily read nor easily dissected. Our natures were 
 unsuited. He, calm and philosophic ; I, impressi- 
 ble and confiding, at least until I met and married 
 him. For two years past his love had been grad- 
 ually growing colder. As the days came and went 
 his neglect of me and my child became more 
 marked. Leaving us to wait wistfully for a caress, 
 he would turn to his gods — his books — with an ill- 
 concealed joy that showed but too plainly where 
 his happiness lay. Human feeling, the pride of 
 other men, was in his eyes a silly weakness. 
 Strange philosophy ! that in the mere pride of 
 stoicism kills the springs of all emotion ! Such is 
 his doctrine. A solitary dungeon, lighted by the 
 rays of his own intellect, suffices for his earthly de- 
 sires, and me he would seek to entomb with him — 
 
 19 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 an age of black, hopeless monotony! Was it not 
 enough to crush my heart, to chill my blood, to 
 desolate my hopes? At length, when human en- 
 durance had reached its limit, I rebelled. He 
 turned the opportunity into a tirade against our 
 sex. It was plain that I was the concrete object 
 of his arraignment. But never before had I known 
 him to be so fiercely cynical, so cruelly unjust. At 
 that moment I fairly hated him ! "Set me free !" 
 I cried. He looked at me steadily for an instant, 
 then said slowly: "Do you mean that, Adelaide?" 
 "Yes," I replied. Without another word he 
 walked to his desk, sat down, and began to write. 
 Rising, he laid a paper before me which I signed 
 without looking at the text. He had finally re- 
 nounced me, I agreeing to accept twenty-five hun- 
 dred dollars in lieu of all future claims for sup- 
 port. The next day he gave me the money and I 
 came at once to New York. Here I had the good 
 fortune to meet an old school friend, Dorothy 
 Deming, an actress, who lately has been pleading 
 my cause with her manager. I shall go on the 
 stage at the first opportunity. There, you know 
 all. Of course they think I am a widow here. 
 
 Delamere : Indeed, a most charming one ! 
 
 Adelaide : It is a wretched situation, but I am 
 
 20 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 trying to forget the cause and live a new life — I 
 trust a happier one. 
 
 Delamere: I know it will be a merrier one. 
 What you endured was unpleasant, I grant. But 
 you must not be too severe in your judgment of 
 Frank. He was to blame; yet he should not be 
 held entirely responsible for circumstances which 
 were caused mainly by business reverses. He neg- 
 lected you simply through preoccupation. His 
 fortitude — or, as you call it, his philosophy — 
 under misfortune irritated you. That is the whole 
 story. Does he know you are here? 
 
 Adelaide : No. I wish him to remain ever in 
 ignorance of my whereabouts. 
 
 Delamere (drawing near to Adelaide) : He 
 shall. Let us hope 
 
 Enter Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy : They are waiting, Adelaide. 
 
 Adelaide : Dorothy, this is Mr. Delamere. My 
 old school friend, of whom I spoke, Mr. Delamere. 
 (Delamere lows.) (To Dorothy:) Mr. Dela- 
 mere and I have met before. But come, I will tell 
 you about it later. We must not delay the pro- 
 gramme any longer. (Exeunt.) 
 
 21 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Mr. Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston: Not a word from Bagsby in a 
 whole week. His silence is mystifying, to say the 
 least. Unless tangible evidence is secured on his 
 present trip to show whether the boy is dead or 
 alive, I shall abandon the quest and return to 
 England. The Duke will be disappointed. But it 
 cannot be helped. No stone has been left un- 
 turned in four long years to discover the Earl's 
 fate. Ah ! could the words — hasty and violent — 
 spoken fourteen years ago be recalled ! Could the 
 Duke but live again through that fateful scene, 
 how different the ending ! I well remember it. A 
 youthful escapade, a threat of durance vile, hot 
 words between father and son — the temper of the 
 Kenmores burning in both — a disappearance, a 
 search — at first desultory, then changing to con- 
 certed effort by all the forces at command — and 
 now, perhaps, the sequel. In oblivion the Earl 
 Charles completes the sad chapter begun on that 
 still sadder day ! Doubtless in the vastness of the 
 mighty West he, the scion of the noblest house in 
 Britain, sleeps unmarked, unknown ! Death alone 
 explains his complete obliteration. Then back to 
 England at once if — but I can't go away like that ! 
 She — ah! what does she care? Why should she 
 
 22 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 care? Hum! hum! (striking his breast.) Symp- 
 toms of rank sentimentality may be excused in 
 some cases — in a boy fresh from college, for in- 
 stance, but what palliation can be offered when an 
 old, callous widower like myself permits himself 
 to be enmeshed like the veriest swain! Out upon 
 ye, mad sprite ! Alluring as a seraph art thou, yet 
 full of whims as a satyr ! The fairest creature in 
 all Christendom has cast a spell over me. Escape 
 there is none. She, I know, suspects nothing. Her 
 mother and the others are equally ignorant of my 
 feelings. It is time the ice were broken. Yet I 
 fear — I fear — but it must be done. How to per- 
 suade artless innocence that Dan Cupid has found 
 a lurking-place here (lays hand on heart) and she 
 the object ! Oh, the impossibility of it — the hope- 
 lessness ! This suspense must be soon ended or it 
 will end me ! 
 
 Enter Seabury. 
 
 Seabttry: Ah! Widdeston, the individual of 
 my ruminations ! Beginning where we terminated 
 yesterday, you having, doubtless, meanwhile cogi- 
 tated seriously upon the irrefutable arguments 
 presented for your consideration on that auspi- 
 cious occasion, your mind is now in that receptive 
 
 23 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL, 
 
 condition so essential to a proper appreciation of 
 their lucidity, logic, and luminosity. Having 
 agreed upon this point, we proceed to the analysis 
 of the functions of a republican form of govern- 
 ment as differentiated from the effete system which 
 you have incontinently advocated. In passing, I 
 desire to asseverate that my lucubrations and their 
 natural corrollary, the logical deductions of po- 
 litico-scientific thought, shall be couched in ver- 
 nacular so perspicacious that even the unenlight- 
 ened intellect will have no difficulty in assimilat- 
 ing their concentrated principles of scientific rea- 
 soning. Therefore, sir, when you or another pre- 
 sume to enter the arena of debate with Thaddeus 
 Seabury, it behooves you to fortify yourself for the 
 inevitable and overwhelming assault which you 
 invite by your temerity in combating fundamental 
 principles such as I seek to disseminate. As the 
 self-constituted protagonist of untrammeled 
 liberty of speech, I ask where, in all this bounteous 
 universe, does it flourish more gloriously than 
 here, in this land of the free and home of the 
 brave ? You, sir, have dared to draw comparisons 
 between our illimitable freedom, our individual 
 sovereignty, and that enjoyed by the people who 
 grovel under the effeteism of Europe. You, sir, 
 have dared to question the unquestioned superi- 
 
 24 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ority of a republican form of government. And 
 now, sir, I proceed to hurl at you, in thoughts 
 that breathe and words that burn 
 
 Widdeston- : Excuse me, but could I ask you 
 to postpone your disquisition to a later period ? I 
 am hungry. The cravings 
 
 Seabury: Further explanation is superfluous. 
 The eloquence of unsatiated longings scintillates 
 from your entire being. Far be it from me to stay 
 the enjoyment attendant upon judicious gastro- 
 nomical replenishment. Therefore perambulate, 
 my dear sir, explore the commissariat, and thus 
 
 fortified, return and (Widdeston breaks 
 
 away and exits.) He retreats under fire. Ah, 
 I felicitate myself that few, very few have been 
 able to withstand those verbal and argumen- 
 tative batteries which Thaddeus Seabury never hesi- 
 tates to utilize for the demolishment of theories 
 inimical to the propagation of natural liberty 
 throughout the universe. Our English cousins 
 represent the apotheosis of egotistic inflation. I 
 truly grieve as I meditate upon the consummation 
 in store for the egotist. Widdeston is a man of 
 parts — a man of credibility— a man of reasonable 
 mental caliber, yet his egotism prevents him from 
 perceiving that outside this great country— my 
 country— liberty exists only in the imagination. 
 
 25 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Let the world look at us ! Unassailable we stand 
 at every point ! As I contemplate the greatness 
 of the country responsible for me, for Washington, 
 for Lincoln, for Grant, my bosom heaves with a 
 not unnatural enthusiasm! Of what avail, then, 
 is the bombastic magniloquence of envious de- 
 tractors against the solidified and monumental 
 facts of our historical achievement as emblazoned 
 for all time upon the tablets of fame? Let the 
 galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung! 
 Eclipse is first, the rest are — nowhere ! 
 
 Enter Mrs. Westholme, Pearl, and the Count. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: Count, this is Mr. Sea- 
 bury. Mr. Seabury, the Count Emile de Lem- 
 priere. (They bow.) 
 
 Count: Charmed, sir! Within the minute 
 your name was spoken. I am told you have the 
 grand patriotism. That is good. 
 
 Seabury: "Verbal expletives, my dear Count, 
 are valued according to their application. (The 
 Count looks puzzled.) It is my pride and my 
 privilege to be honored as a denizen of this glori- 
 ous land. Here (sweeping gesture) I made my 
 initial appearance on the rostrum of life, as my 
 father did before me, as his father did before him, 
 
 26 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 and as daily the elect of earth are appearing. Here 
 I have quaffed inspiration for sixty years, and I 
 flatter myself, sir, that I have rendered to my 
 country an adequate return for the beatitude it 
 has conferred upon me. Here we recognize no 
 titles. Nevertheless I greet you, Count, as a rep- 
 resentative of a sister republic endeavoring to ex- 
 tricate herself from the domination of continental 
 traditions. 
 
 Count : It is, perhaps, my misfortune that the 
 title I bear is a relic of an imperial regime which 
 no longer exists in my country. We have accepted 
 the republic. My family have never been foment- 
 ers of discord. 
 
 Seabury: Unpremeditated utterances such as 
 mine, sir, are not intended, nor should they be 
 construed, as reflections either upon nations or in- 
 dividuals. Your ruminations may be tinged with 
 regret as the consciousness of the inexorability of 
 that fate which molded you a foreigner ultimately 
 takes possession of your faculties, but I am unable 
 to offer even infinitesimal encouragement in miti- 
 gation of the comprehensive fact that you have 
 been denied the proud privileges conferred only 
 through American citizenship. In this country, 
 sir, we are free. Free, and untrammeled as the 
 pellucid atmosphere that encompasses us on every 
 
 27 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 side. From the knight of the broom, sir, in the 
 simplicity and quietude of his humble domicile, to 
 the multi-millionaire housed in sumptuosity, we 
 revel in a freedom unique, magnificent, un- 
 bounded. Honors and emoluments in the pleni- 
 tude of a truly popular government are distrib- 
 uted broadcast, not confined to that fortunate 
 minority who fatten wherever monarchies hold 
 high carnival. Here, sir, the innumerable prizes 
 that in business, politics, and society dangle tempt- 
 ingly to the competition of every citizen are by 
 the perfection of our economic system conveyed 
 within attractive reach of all. For sixty years 
 
 Enter Widdeston". 
 
 Excuse me, Count. Now Widdeston {Takes 
 
 Widdeston by the buttonhole, while Mrs. West- 
 holme seizes the Count's arm, motions to 
 Pearl, and the three latter exit.) But before we 
 begin where we terminated so inauspiciously our 
 last dissertation, I desire to offer a suggestion. A 
 novel concoction, conceived in the mental store- 
 house of an acknowledged connoisseur, has re- 
 cently demonstrated its claim to my unstinted ap- 
 probation. Initially, to irrigate ; then, to the fur- 
 ther ventilation of fundamentals in political sci- 
 ence, in syllogistic reasoning, in (Both exit.) 
 
 28 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Adelaide and Delamere. 
 
 Adelaide : You see him to-morrow ? 
 
 Delamere : Yes. Shall I bear him a message ? 
 
 Adelaide: You are not serious? 
 
 Delamere : Never more so in my life. Shall I ? 
 
 Adelaide : No, a thousand times no ! Can you 
 really think me so weak ? 
 
 Delamere : Not weak — only longing ! 
 
 Adelaide : Never — for him ! You will not 
 mention our meeting? 
 
 Delamere: Depend upon my reserve. You 
 know why I go to Albany ? 
 
 Adelaide : To consult him regarding the mine. 
 
 Delamere: Were it not for that I should not 
 leave you. 
 
 Adelaide: You are very kind. But your in- 
 terests and his demand that you give instant at- 
 tention to this mining matter. 
 
 Delamere : Very true. It is important. The 
 property is, I think, quite valuable, and for 
 Frank's sake must not be neglected. Now tell me, 
 Adelaide, what are our relations to be in the fu- 
 ture? 
 
 Adelaide : Yours and Frank's ? 
 
 Delamere : Pshaw, no ! Yours and mine. 
 
 20 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide : What should they be save as in the 
 past — friends ? 
 
 Delameee: Nothing more? 
 
 Adelaide: More? Is anything nobler than 
 disinterested friendship ? 
 
 Delamere : Are yon satisfied — happy ? 
 
 Adelaide : Satisfied, yes ; happy, no. 
 
 Delamere : Yon may be happy. 
 
 Adelaide : I do not seek happiness. 
 
 Delamere : Then I gaze on marble — a Galatea 
 stands before me. But I shall be the Pygmalion 
 to restore yon to life. For what is happiness bnt 
 life ? Withont it there is no life. 
 
 Adelaide: The fntnre offers forgetfnlness. 
 That shall be my goal. 
 
 Delamere: The fntnre offers love — happiness 
 — everything ! 
 
 Adelaide: Never for me! No, there is bnt 
 one way. I mnst look to art for the things that 
 have been denied me where I had best reason to 
 expect them. 
 
 Delamere : A most nnnatnral hope ! Yon de- 
 ceive yonrself, Adelaide. Live without love — 
 doom yourself to sexual isolation through senti- 
 mental allegiance to a man who is now your hus- 
 band in name only ! You are not in earnest. 
 
 Adelaide : Sentimental allegiance, as you call 
 
 30 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 it, does not sway my heart. He has renounced me 
 at my wish. I am now free 
 
 Delamere : No, not free ! 
 
 Adelaide: Not free? 
 
 Delamere : Never while earth holds a joy yon 
 fear to embrace ! Ah ! Adelaide, be not blind to 
 the happy chance that has thrown us once again 
 together ! Accept the destiny which now beams 
 so brightly in your path ! 
 
 Adelaide : Your words are wild. 
 
 Delamere : You make them so ! Plainly, shall 
 I not be the instrument of yonr future happiness ? 
 
 Adelaide: Were it possible to attain bliss, it 
 matters not to me who or what is the instrument. 
 It is useless to speculate further. Eegrets alone 
 can come where hopes are so vainly bnilded. 
 
 Delamere: Listen, Adelaide. You misunder- 
 stand me. You are a married woman. You know 
 men. You have known an unloving one. Is his 
 place in your heart to be eternal? Shall the 
 shadow forever dislodge the substance? Can pas- 
 sion — love — man-hunger — the ecstasy of anticipa- 
 tion — be subdued at will? Can the fruition of 
 earth's highest delights be coldly viewed, then dis- 
 missed by a word ? It is not so ! It cannot be so ! 
 
 Adelaide : What is all this to me ? I can never 
 love again. 
 
 31 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere : Yes, it is within your reach. Here 
 I dedicate my life to you — I offer you all! Be 
 mine ! 
 
 Adelaide : Do you mean 
 
 Delamere: Yes, I would fulfill the place left 
 vacant by another. 
 
 Adelaide : Is it possible that you No ! I 
 
 will not believe it ! . There is some mistake ! 
 
 Delamere: One word. Has your knowledge 
 of a man not made essential to you the possession 
 of another ? Has 
 
 Adelaide : Hush ! No more, sir ! I now un- 
 derstand you. But I am loath to accept the mean- 
 ing your words convey. Your friendship for my 
 husband — for me — your reputation — character — 
 the brilliancy of the career that confronts you — 
 all unite to question my conclusion. If you can 
 say nothing to remove my doubts in your honor 
 and faith I shall now bid you good-night. 
 
 Delamere : Adelaide, hear me ! I must utter 
 the thought that consumes my soul ! I love you ! 
 
 Adelaide: You have said enough! Good- 
 night ! 
 
 (As Adelaide turns to go he seizes her around 
 the waist and hisses her passionately. She strug- 
 gles to free herself, but he holds her in a vise-like 
 
 32 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 grip. Gazing steadily into her eyes, he seems to 
 exert a strange power over her.) 
 
 Delamere: Adelaide! Love! Give me your 
 
 answer — now ! Say I am not to leave yon ! Say 
 
 {By a mighty effort she breaks from him and goes 
 out. He laughs good-humor edly.) A rebuff at 
 last! Oh, well! easily won, lightly prized, 
 they say ! Good ! The woman who surrenders at 
 the first attack is scarcely worth capture ! Ah ! my 
 queenly Adelaide, your favors are doubly sweet, 
 your charms doubly precious because guarded so 
 jealously ! I merely await the day when you shall 
 resign them all to me ! 
 
 CUKTAIN. 
 
 END OP ACT I. 
 
 3.* 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Time: The next day. 
 
 Scene 1. Frank Milward's study. Albany. 
 A table, with student lamp and open books. 
 Oil-painting on wall. Two framed photos on 
 top of writing desk, also books and papers. 
 Milward discovered writing. 
 
 Milward: Another batch of copy finished! 
 (Sighs.) What an eternal grind! There! that's 
 the food npon which my ambition to attain emi- 
 nence in the literary world fain must feed itself. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! Eminence in the literary world ! If 
 the situation were less critical it would appeal with 
 stronger emphasis to my risibilities. A typical 
 penny-a-liner with a stipend scarcely sufficient to 
 keep the wolf from the door! A thing to laugh 
 about, indeed! Well, the mind is free, whatever 
 shackles now bind me to earth. Ah, archer of 
 fate! You have found in me a shining mark. 
 
 34 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Striving ever after the golden apple of the Hes j 
 perides, how often have I seen it turn to ashes in 
 my hand! With gaze riveted on the Parnassian 
 heights, I have ignored the pitfalls below. Wealth 
 is now gone — stay ! Shall it be counted alone in 
 that glittering dross which buys and sells men's 
 sonls ? Have I not more than wealth in the affec- 
 tion of a loving child? Would millions compen- 
 sate for her loss? In her do I not find the solace 
 of a lifetime of ceaseless toil — thwarted ambition 
 — defeated aspirations? I am ungrateful. {Falls 
 on knees.) Thou Great Being who rulest over 
 all, forgive Thou me that in the darkness of my 
 earthly vision perceivest not that Thy way is 
 always best ! Chasten in all things Thy poor serv- 
 ant who bowest contritely to Thy will, yet, 
 God! in Thy infinite mercy take not away my 
 darling child ! Leave her to sweeten life — old age 
 — to pour the balm of filial love upon the aching 
 heart — to soothe — to cheer — to comfort. This I 
 ask, Mighty Father! Amen. (Rises.) Yes, it 
 is she that weds me both to heaven and earth. And 
 her mother — she who, forsaking duty — the high- 
 est, noblest — in the haste of an ill-considered re- 
 solve, even now, perhaps, sheds the bitter tears of 
 late repentance — what expiation shall be hers? 
 Alas! alas! That she must learn the hollowness 
 
 35 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 of the world she courts only through a contact 
 that contaminates ! 
 
 Enter Delamere. 
 
 Delamere: In your den as usual, I see. 
 
 Milward: Why, my dear fellow! (They shake 
 hands.) How are you? Whatfs the news? Ex- 
 pected you long ago. 
 
 Delamere : Social duties in the city caused the 
 delay. Couldn't break away, you know. The la- 
 dies, after all, my dear boy, are supreme. Ergo, 
 you have been neglected. 
 
 Milward : I am not in the least jealous of their 
 regard for you. Women are a part — if not all — ■ 
 of your religion. But this business of ours, 
 George 
 
 Delamere: Wait a moment. Delamere, in 
 the future. My sudden rise in the firmament of 
 art made a change in name desirable. Delamere, 
 poet-musician, art connoisseur, litterateur, critic, 
 and man of society ! Such is my present metro- 
 politan status. 
 
 Milward : Very wonderful, indeed, and I con- 
 gratulate you heartily upon your success. But I 
 am reminded at the same time that genius usually 
 spells madness. Now compose that teeming, 
 
 36 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL, 
 
 erratic brain of yours and tell me how fares our 
 mining project? 
 
 (Delamere, who has been looking at photo of 
 Adelaide on desk, fays no attention to Mil- 
 ward.) 
 
 Delamere: Beautiful woman, your wife. 
 
 Where is she? 
 
 Milward: My wife? Oh! That is— Ade- 
 laide? Why, she— she's gone, George. 
 
 Delamere : Gone ? 
 
 Milward: Yes, finally. We have separated. 
 
 Delamere: Is it possible! Well, I'm sorry 
 for you, old boy. But I cannot understand her 
 motive in leaving her home. 
 
 Milward: Motive! Exists there the man who 
 can fathom a woman's motives or her heart ? 
 
 Delamere: I doubt it. How came the dis- 
 agreement ? 
 
 Milward: Neither in one day nor a month. It 
 
 was the culmination of years. I saw it— I was 
 prepared for it. 
 
 Delamere : Your little daughter 
 
 Milward: Kemains with me. Nothing but 
 death shall part us. My very life-blood flows in 
 her veins. All may go— let wrack and rum en- 
 compass me— with her by my side all is still sun- 
 shine. 
 
 37 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere: Sunshine! Yet you loved your 
 wife. 
 
 Milward: I did. I love her even now. She 
 has not wronged me ! No, in my heart her abso- 
 lution is complete. But how shall she answer her 
 own when the sacred image of an only child mute- 
 ly pleads for a mother's presence — for a mother's 
 love? 
 
 Delamere : She may return. 
 
 Milward: Ah, my friend, that wish is father 
 to the thought. Her spirit is proud. She will 
 suffer long in silence. I do not permit myself to 
 hope. 
 
 Delamere: You were satisfied to part with 
 her? 
 
 Milward : Only on condition that she could be 
 happier elsewhere. My poverty was a crime in her 
 eyes. Legitimate reverses, such as occur even to 
 the moneyed giants who wield the scepter over 
 world-wide trade and finance, did not excuse the 
 unpardonable fault through which she was con- 
 demned to suffer with me. She was unhappy. 
 Whether my conduct justified her despondence I 
 cannot say. It is not given to man to estimate 
 his capacity to inflict pain or confer pleasure upon 
 those around him. Asking to be released, I 
 granted her request because I wished to place no 
 
 38 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 obstacle in the path of her happiness. May her 
 hopes not prove elnsive ! Yet I feel that but one 
 road ever leads to pure, lasting happiness, and 
 that is — duty ! 
 
 Delamere : Do you know where she has gone ? 
 
 Milward : She is doubtless in New York. 
 
 Delamere: The goal of every woman who 
 seeks pleasure and is willing to pay the price for 
 it. She, too, will pay the price, or I am no judge 
 of womankind. 
 
 Milward: You mean 
 
 Delamere: Precisely. She is sister to all 
 women. Not one but finds love an easy and allur- 
 ing highway. Once traveled, no chart is required 
 to direct the course. She will content herself as 
 others do — by taking another companion. 
 
 Milward : You wrong my wife and you wrong 
 womankind in speaking as you do. Your practice 
 and your experience with women, I am sorry to 
 say, lend weight to much you would say of them, 
 but I will not accept a sweeping libel against the 
 sex. 
 
 Delamere : Don't be offended, my dear fellow. 
 You are a sentimentalist — or worse, an ascetic. 
 You delight in seclusion. I am a social animal. 
 
 Milward : A voluptuary. 
 
 Delamere : As you will. You prefer to reach 
 
 39 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 your ideal by self-deception. My plan is to view 
 things as they really are. Plainly, the vaunted 
 virtue of women, so beautiful in the abstract, is 
 a mere concession to the prejudices of moralizers 
 like yourself. My dear fellow, can't you see that 
 the only function of society is to cover bald sex- 
 uality ? For what other purpose does it exist ? 
 
 Milward : Is society a cloak for immorality ? 
 
 Delamere : No. Calling immoral what nature 
 bids us do by no means makes it so. 
 
 Milward: Society is woman's shield. With- 
 out it she would be the constant prey of licentious 
 and designing men. It protects her modesty 
 
 Delamere: There you go again! Modesty! 
 A mere artifice ! The modesty of a woman, like 
 the honor of a man, is a beautiful fiction intended 
 to impress the young with the godliness of human 
 nature. It never deceives the man or woman old 
 enough to distinguish a blackbird from a jay. 
 
 Milward: I am not ignorant of your philos- 
 ophy. You would overturn all moral standards 
 and in their place set free love. 
 
 Delamere: I speak for the women — not 
 against them. Can they fall lower than many 
 have done, right in the midst of our so-called civ- 
 ilized communities? Remove conventional re- 
 straints, place women upon the same moral foot- 
 
 40 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ing as men, give them absolute liberty — mentally, 
 morally, physically, socially — and before long we 
 should have the grandest type of woman since the 
 days of Eve. It is woman's real emancipation that 
 I advocate. Mark me : it will come ! The volcano 
 smolders ! Deep rumblings are heard ! It labors ! 
 It shakes ! The fires will burst forth ! Then cus- 
 tom and habitudes shall be puffed away ! And 
 woman — the new woman — the regenerated woman, 
 radiant in the possession of her God-given equality 
 with her brother, shall take her place, no longer a 
 subject, but the queen of all ! 
 
 Milward: One would indeed think you were 
 woman's champion to hear you talk. Your actions, 
 it is true, bear out your theories, but your theories 
 are most vicious. In practice they would under- 
 mine society and make us all slaves to brutal pas- 
 sion. 
 
 Delamere: In my system divorce would be 
 effectually blotted out 
 
 Milward: Yes, as you would blot out every- 
 thing that interfered with your own sensual grati- 
 fication. 
 
 Delamere : Listen. I will bring this question 
 home to you. Look at your own wife. Why did 
 she leave you? Was it because you were poor? I 
 say nc ! She preferred to risk everything rather 
 
 41 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 than remain bound to a man who in her eyes had 
 ceased to be a lover and had become a master! 
 Thousands of wives would do likewise had they 
 the courage to defy the tongue of scandal. Think 
 of a system that permits the husband to revel in 
 the satiety of indiscriminate possession, while the 
 wife must needs stand guard over the so-called 
 honor of both ! What chivalry ! What justice ! 
 Bah ! All mockery ! 
 
 Milward: The picture is overdrawn. 
 
 Delamere: Not at all. But the situation is 
 gradually curing itself. Of course I am doing my 
 best to aid society to recover its health. 
 
 Milward: If society has indeed reached the 
 stage where the services of physicians like yourself 
 are required, I fear the patient is beyond re- 
 covery. 
 
 Delamere : Ha ! ha ! ha ! Keep your opinion, 
 Frank. We shall not quarrel about it. But for 
 Heaven's sake don't forever shut yourself up here 
 and forget the great gay world on the outside. Go 
 out and enjoy yourself. Your wife will do it. 
 Follow her example. 
 
 Milward: When a man has spent his whole 
 life in study, what boots it to mingle with the 
 world ? 
 
 Delamere: His whole life! Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 42 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 You talk like a centenarian ! Thirty-three and a 
 confirmed anchorite ! AH right, my boy ! Mum- 
 mify yourself if you will ! Now to business. We 
 must have more money 
 
 Milward : Much ? 
 
 Delamere: Monks seems to think that two 
 thousand dollars invested at this time will make 
 our fortune. 
 
 Milward: Then my fortune is doomed. I 
 haven't a penny. Placed a mortgage on this house 
 for twenty-five hundred dollars— all it would 
 stand — to give to my wife. Nothing left. 
 
 Delamere : Same here. My luck has been ex- 
 ecrable of late. Credit strained to the cracking- 
 point at my banker's and my publishers dishonor- 
 ing insignificant drafts— a mere flea-bite in my 
 general scheme of expense. Stocks wabbling in 
 the most damnably uncertain fashion just as I had 
 planned a grand coup— bills here and bills there 
 and creditors dogging my steps clamorous for 
 money ! It's a delightful situation ! What's to be 
 done? 
 
 Milward : Wait— yes ! I will write to my fa- 
 ther. Perhaps I can make a loan from him. 
 
 Delamere : Good ! The game is not yet lost. 
 In the meantime I will see what can be done in 
 
 43 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 New York. {Looks at watch.) Quarter of four. 
 Train at four. Well, I'm going. 
 
 Milward: Wait a moment. (Gets letter from 
 desk and hands to Delamere.) It came a week 
 ago. I have not answered it. 
 
 Delamere (reading) : "Mr. Milward — Dear 
 Sir: Will you oblige me with the present address 
 of your friend Mr. George Stanley? I have an 
 important communication to make to him, and 
 shall esteem it a favor if you will at your earliest 
 pleasure comply with this request. Believe me, 
 most sincerely yours, Mrs. Hattie Ellison/' All 
 on account of May. Sweet girl, May. She loves 
 me. But what can I do for her ? It is out of the 
 question to marry her. Besides, I have a wife al- 
 ready. Bigamy places a man in a deucedly awk- 
 ward — not to say uncomfortable — position. In 
 fact, it may place a man where there are any num- 
 ber of bars, but no assortment of drinks. Excuse 
 the joke — a ghastly one, but good. Tell her 
 mother I'm dead. No, say I have gone West 
 again — won't be back for a year. Now to catch 
 my train. Gobd-by. (Exit.) 
 
 (Milward stands looking after his friend for a 
 few moments, shakes his head sadly, walks to desk, 
 gazes earnestly at picture of his wife, takes it up, 
 kisses it, places it in drawer of desk, then seats 
 
 44 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 himself dejectedly in chair and loses himself in 
 thought. Little Violet enters softly, walks to- 
 ward her father, and lays her hand on his bowed 
 head.) 
 
 Violet: Are you not well, papa? 
 
 Milward: Not ill, my darling. Papa is seri- 
 ous. You shall drive away his gloom. Ah, how 
 could I live without my little angel ! 
 
 Violet: Dear papa, you must not work so 
 hard. When your face looks so sad I know you 
 are tired. You must stop writing now! (Goes 
 to table and closes boohs.) There, rest yourself. 
 I wish I could help you, papa. 
 
 Milward: Yes, but my little girl is too small 
 to work. 
 
 Violet: Then when I grow up I will help 
 you. 
 
 Milward: I pray the day will not come too 
 soon. 
 
 Violet : Why, papa ? 
 
 Milward: Because you might wish to leave 
 me, like — like 
 
 Violet : Oh, no, dear papa ! I would never 
 leave you ! I love you too much ! (Kisses him.) 
 
 Milward : Ah ! some day — some day ! Who 
 can tell ? 
 
 45 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Violet: Why, papa, you are crying! Let me 
 wipe the tears away. (Takes his handkerchief.) 
 There, you look nice again ! 
 
 Milward : God bless you, my child ! 
 
 Violet: Papa, when is mamma coming home? 
 I think she has been gone such a long time. Tell 
 her to come back quick to her little darling. Why, 
 what's become of mamma's picture ? It used to be 
 right there ('pointing). 
 
 Milward: Yes — yes. I put it away, darling. 
 The frame was much worn. I must buy a new 
 one. 
 
 Violet: Well, don't forget it, dear papa. 
 (Listens.) I hear nurse coming. It's fr'me for 
 my nap. (A knock.) I'm coming, Edna. (Kisses 
 him affectionately.) That's a real American kiss, 
 papa. (Runs out door.) 
 
 (A knock at door. Milward opens door.) 
 Enter Mrs. Ellison and May. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: I am Mrs. Ellison. 
 May (timidly) : My mother, Mr. Milward. 
 Milward: Be seated, ladies. (Places chairs.) 
 Mrs. Ellison: Thank you. Is Mr. Stanley 
 here? 
 
 Milward: He is not, madam. 
 
 46 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: Not here? 
 
 Milward : No. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: He left Few York this morn- 
 ing. He is here now. (Rising.) 
 
 Milward : Madam, Mr. Stanley was here. He 
 has returned to the city. Thence he goes West. 
 
 Mrs,. Ellison : To what part ? 
 
 Milward : That I cannot tell yon. He travels 
 much when away from the city. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: Mr. Milward, I do not forget 
 that yoTi are his friend. You seek to shield him. 
 But he shall not escape me ! You do a vile wrong, 
 sir, in aiding him to avoid me ! 
 
 Milward: You do a wrong, madam, in accus- 
 ing me. I assure you I have no desire to deceive 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison : You received my letter ? 
 
 Milward: I did. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison : But you failed to reply. 
 
 Milward: Because I could not give you the 
 information requested. I myself knew nothing of 
 Mr. Stanley's whereabouts at the time you wrote. 
 He came to-day without foreknowledge on my 
 part. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: Then, sir, I beg your pardon. 
 I was hasty. (Seats herself.) You met my 
 daughter three months ago, did you not ? 
 
 47 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Milward : Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: Will you kindly state the cir- 
 cumstances ? 
 
 Milward: They are simple. I was called to 
 New York to confer with Mr. Stanley regarding a 
 business matter. Going to his hotel, I found your 
 daughter there with him. I spoke a few words to 
 her during his momentary absence from the room, 
 after which he and I left the hotel together. I 
 have not seen her since until she entered this 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison : He has wronged my daughter ! 
 He must marry her! 
 
 Milward : I regret to say it, he is already mar- 
 ried. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison : Married ! (May utters a sharp 
 cry.) 
 
 Milward: It is best you know the truth at 
 once. 
 
 Mrs. Ellison: Married! Scoundrel! Vil- 
 lain ! Wretch ! Oh ! he shall pay for this ! Cow- 
 ard ! Blackguard ! Come, girl ! Let us go ! 
 Thank Heaven you have a brother, child ! Let 
 him attend to the vile scamp ! Come ! Good-day, 
 sir. (Both exit.) 
 
 Milward: Thus my friend pursues his pleas- 
 ures. My friend — my friend ! The wrecker of in- 
 
 48 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 nocent lives ! The despc-iler of homes ! The tra- 
 ducer of womanhood ! My friend ! God ! what a 
 thought ! No, no ! It shall never be ! His path 
 and mine lie far apart ! True I must be to my- 
 self, to honor, to Him who gave me breath! 
 man ! man ! Of what clay art thou ? Thy God- 
 like gifts in contempt, thy higher destiny ignored ! 
 The soul of a Plato curbed by the passions of a 
 Sybarite ! Thy head reaching the stars ; thy feet 
 incumbered with earthly mire ! Strange duality, 
 whose power even I could never fathom ! But the 
 spell is broken ! All is over ! We shall not meet 
 again. For four years I have countenanced these 
 things — for four years our friendship has known 
 no jar ! Now — at once — the end ! It is best ! It 
 is best ! I shall leave here ! The North holds 
 nothing for me now ! Wife, wealth, friend — all — ■ 
 all gone! Why struggle longer? There (apos- 
 trophizing a painting on the wall) — there they 
 wait for me — there in that tranquil home where I 
 was born in the sunny South! A haven for my 
 darling child, who, motherless, needs the constant 
 care of tender hearts and hands. Yes, I will go ! 
 This turmoil over I may find rest — rest ! (Throws 
 himself in chair as scene closes in.) 
 
 END OF SCENE 1. 
 49 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Scene 2. A Street. 
 
 Enter Widdeston, meeting Bagsby. 
 
 Widdeston : Hello, Bagsby ! Got your tele- 
 gram this morning. So nothing came of your 
 trip? 
 
 Bagsby: Nothing. Just going to see you. 
 Give it up as a bad job. Went to Denver, Lead- 
 ville, the Creek?— everywhere. No good. Same as 
 before. Thought I had a clew — mistake. Boy's 
 dead, sure. P'raps years. Killed in fight, I guess. 
 Eough lot. Man's life worth nothing. Huh! 
 thought I'd get it myself once. Fellow — big 
 miner — said drink. Didn't think. Said no. 
 Phew! Pulled on me. Dodged in time. Bullet 
 skinned here. Close shave. 
 
 Widdeston: Lucky miss, Bagsby. Glad you 
 got back alive. We have done our best. Further 
 effort and expense may as well be spared. It 
 grieves me to return empty-handed to the Duke. 
 But I see no other way. You think of nothing 
 left undone? (Bagsby shakes Ms head.) Then 
 get your traps together. A steamer leaves, I be- 
 lieve, Saturday. This is Wednesday. Eeserve 
 passage for two, Bagsby. (Bagsby turns to go.) 
 
 50 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 No ! Wait a moment. Don't be in a hurry about 
 the steamer tickets. A little matter has just oc- 
 curred to me. I will send final instructions to you 
 at the St. George before noon to-morrow. {Exit 
 Bagsby.) Nothing to be gained by being pre- 
 cipitate. It's true I can't stay here forever, but — 
 but something must be done. Ah! she holds me 
 here with bands of steel, yet how little she realizes 
 that my heart is in her keeping. Pearl — Pearl! 
 What will she say? Ah! momentous question — 
 upon which for me depends either happiness or 
 misery! {Exit.) 
 
 END OF SCENE 2. 
 
 'Scene 3. Samt at Ac\ I. 
 
 Enter Pearl. 
 
 Pearl: The Count's not a bit nice — there! 
 How does he know I fancy him? Ridiculous! 
 What an egotistical creature ! He must be a per- 
 fect simpleton to tell mamma such a thing! In 
 the house but twenty-four hours and already con- 
 vinced that I may be had for, the asking ! Well, 
 
 51 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 we shall see, Monsieur Count! (Seats herself.) 
 Oh, dear ! this marriage question ! How it is ding- 
 donged into the ears of poor little unfortunates 
 like myself ! I wish it were all over ! But why 
 can't we be let alone to do our own choosing? I 
 am sure I am old enough. Gracious ! I am two 
 months over eighteen ! One doesn't have to be as 
 old as a patriarch to know whether one is in love 
 or not. Mamma says, however, that I am entirely 
 too young to know what the sweet little word 
 means; only mamma never called it sweet — she's 
 too unsentimental for that ! Perhaps I know more 
 about it than dear old mamma gives me credit for 
 • — at least, I am sure I know much more than I 
 did yesterday — before I spoke with Mrs. Lester. 
 Just think! Some day, perhaps, a grand, noble, 
 true-hearted man will tell his love to me — will say 
 he loves me better than all the world — worships 
 the very ground I walk on — will die if his love is 
 not returned — will — oh, dear! how like a beauti- 
 ful romance it all sounds ! Almost too good to be 
 true ! Ah ! but my knight shall be one of nature's 
 noblemen or I will not listen to him, and he shall 
 love truly, fervently, eternally ! When he comes — 
 when my knight comes — when — oh! (Rises ab- 
 ruptly.) 
 
 52 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston: Pardon my intrusion. I have 
 come, Miss Pearl, to say — to say — the — the news, 
 I know, will have no interest for you — but — 
 but 
 
 Pearl (aside) : Gracious! Is he going to pro- 
 pose? 
 
 Widdeston: I cannot go away without ex- 
 pressing how much I regret the parting with my — 
 my — dear — little — friend ! 
 
 Pearl : Oh ! Is— is that all ? 
 
 Widdeston: All? Why, I — I — what else can 
 I say, Miss Pearl? 
 
 Pearl: I don't know. Won't you be seated, 
 Mr. Widdeston? (They sit.) 
 
 Widdeston: Thank you. My mission in 
 America being now finally completed, there is 
 nothing to keep me here. 
 
 Pearl : Nothing ? 
 
 Widdeston: That is — of course — I mean — 
 there is nothing to keep me here so far as business 
 is concerned. I could be happy if — but my affairs 
 are finished — and I — I cannot stay longer. 
 
 Pearl: You have made up your mind very 
 suddenly, Mr. Widdeston, have you not ? 
 
 53 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Widdeston: Some news received to-day de- 
 cided me. I have now been away from England 
 nearly fonr years. To retnrn is disappointing for 
 two reasons. First, my mission has been unsuc- 
 cessful, and, second, I deeply regret to part from 
 those friends in this house whom I have learned 
 to esteem so highly. 
 
 Pearl : It is kind of you to say that. Mamma 
 and I will miss you greatly, Mr. Widdeston. We 
 shall not soon forget the courtesy and attention 
 you have bestowed upon us. 
 
 Widdeston: Ah, would it had been a thou- 
 sandfold more ! Then — you — I should say — the — 
 the — Miss Pearl, the pleasant — yea, happy hours 
 passed here will never be effaced from my memory. 
 But, as I mentioned before, I must go. It is all 
 settled. The steamer leaves Saturday. Our des- 
 tinies seem widely separated. The broad ocean 
 will soon divide us. 
 
 Pearl : And will you never come back ? 
 
 Widdeston: I fear not. Dear are the asso- 
 ciations of one's youth. In England I was born 
 and reared. I am no longer young. It is my 
 hope to pass the years that yet remain to me in the 
 dear home where I first saw the light. 
 
 Pearl: You really mean to bid us good-by 
 forever ? 
 
 54 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Widdeston : I wish it were in my power to say 
 nay to your question, but ah, Miss Pearl 
 
 Pearl: Then — then, Mr. Widdeston, I'm very 
 sorry. (Rises abruptly and leaves the room.) 
 
 Widdeston" (staring in amazement) : What is 
 the meaning of that? Can she — is it possible? 
 Am I dreaming? Can she really care for me? 
 k Preposterous ! I am an idiot ! My conceit is be- 
 yond belief ! That radiant creature love me ? Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! I am in my dotage ! Love me ! Do tko 
 stars twinkle for the worm? Are the rapturec of 
 Paradise still reserved for mortals ? No ! no ! This 
 is folly ! To dwell upon this hope were but to in- 
 crease the blow that dooms me to despair ! Yet I 
 must know whether I am to live or die! I will 
 stay a month — a year — a century to learn my fate ! 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Enter Dorothy and Von Guttenberg. 
 
 Dorothy: Eemember, Mr. Von Guttenberg, 
 you must follow my instructions to the letter, on 
 pain of excommunication. Do you understand? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Ex-com-mu-ni-ca-tion. That 
 word not — but I know you will a joke make with 
 Mrs. Lester 
 
 Dorothy: Hush! Listen. She will be down 
 
 55 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 in a moment. Mr. Seabury came in five minutes 
 ago. He's in the right mood — so. (Simulating 
 mild tipsi?iess.) He admires her tremendously — 
 who doesn't ? I told him yesterday I thought Ade- 
 laide was again pining for a protector — that sin- 
 gle blessedness did not seem to agree with her. I 
 wish you could have seen the expression on Mr. 
 Seabury's face ! Well, the time is ripe. Now, sir ! 
 Can I rely upon you? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: I will my best do. But 
 when Mrs. Lester shall find out 
 
 Dorothy: Don't worry. She will not blame 
 you. Her wrath will vent itself alone on my de- 
 voted head. I take the whole responsibility. Now, 
 for goodness sake don't spoil our cute little com- 
 edy through nervousness. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Ach! I in the German 
 army have served. One soldier — two — ten — fifty 
 could I fight — ah, Miss Dorothy, better than one 
 American lady I can stand before when she shall 
 scold. 
 
 Dorothy : Don't be afraid. She won't eat you. 
 There's my hand. I promise faithfully to shield 
 you, no matter what happens. Find Mr. Seabury. 
 Watch this door until you see me pass out. Then 
 tell him that Mrs. Lester desires a confidential 
 word with him in the parlor. I will await you in 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 the corridor. (As Von Guttenberg turns to go 
 out Adelaide enters.) See that the band-box 
 is handled carefully, Mr. Von Guttenberg, and be 
 sure not to forget the mackintosh. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Yes, Miss Dorothy. (Hur- 
 ries out.) 
 
 Adelaide : Band-box ! Mackintosh ! Haven't 
 you forgotten something? I sadly fear, Dorothy, 
 that ere you have done with him your handsome 
 cavalier will degenerate into a veritable "but- 
 tons." 
 
 Dorothy: Nothing like keeping the men oc- 
 cupied. It is the only way to satisfy one's self 
 that they are out of mischief. 
 
 Adelaide (laughing) : Out of mischief! Dor- 
 othy Deming in a new role — conserver of man's 
 welfare and self-constituted protector of his mor- 
 als and manners ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor Mr. Von 
 Guttenberg ! Nothing less than a German "baron" 
 would answer for your first experiment in the art 
 of man-government ! Band-boxes, and mackin- 
 toshes, and doubtless goloshes, and extra curls, and 
 hair-pins, and corset laces, and oh ! the thousand- 
 and-one things that are included in the impedi- 
 menta of a successful soubrette ! What a vista of 
 usefulness for a dignified gentleman ! Come, now, 
 aren't you ashamed of yourself ? 
 
 57 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Dorothy: Well, he dearly loves to do my 
 errands. And really, I never overburden him. He 
 has served in the German army and knows what 
 hard work is. I simply keep him in practice. But, 
 dear me ! I had forgotten. Wait here till I re- 
 turn. Something very important. (Hurries out.) 
 
 Adelaide : Something very important ! What 
 can it be? A letter from the manager, perhaps. 
 Good news, I'm sure. Just like Dorothy to leave 
 it to the last moment. I hope she will hurry. 
 
 Enter Seabury. 
 
 Seabury: Ah, Mrs. Lester, this auspicious op- 
 portunity has heretofore seemed immeasurably re- 
 mote. I felicitate. (Looking around.) Is the se- 
 clusion sufficient? 
 
 Adelaide: For what, pray? (Aside.) Now, 
 if Dorothy would only come ! 
 
 Seabury: Eavesdroppers are known to ply 
 their vocation at most unseasonable periods. It is 
 wise to always endeavor to circumvent their machi- 
 nations. Therefore — but no matter. Madam, I 
 am your most humble servant. You have con- 
 ferred honor upon Thaddeus Seabury — such 
 honor, to quote the words of the immortal Shake- 
 speare, "as age cannot stale or custom wither!" 
 Fine poet, Shakespeare. 
 
 58 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide (aside) : What is the man talking 
 about ? 
 
 Seabury : Not to resume where we terminated 
 at our last colloquy, the matter now under advise- 
 ment being singularly removed from the crass in- 
 sipidity which often distinguishes ordinary sub- 
 jects — it is still, perhaps, unnecessary and super- 
 fluous to enter into detailed expression of those 
 ardent sentiments which permeate my being and 
 dominate my sentient organism. Nevertheless, 
 having feared my inability at the crucial period 
 to adequately extemporize, I propitiously took oc- 
 casion to formulate what shall be historically des- 
 ignated as my — my (fumbling in pockets) 
 
 (aside :) Bless my soul ! What have I done with 
 my declaration? Not the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence ! No, far from it ! The declaration of 
 servitude — of subjugation to the weaker vessel; 
 for am I not a slave to lovely woman's charms ? 
 
 Adelaide : You have lost something ? (Aside :) 
 Why doesn't that girl come? 
 
 Seabury : Eegretfully I announce that the dec- 
 laration seems to have miscarried. (Aside :) Mut- 
 ton-head ! The exigency must be bridged over by 
 extemporaneous eloquence. An irreparable over- 
 sight not to have committed to memory those por- 
 tentous lines which spoke in thunder tones of the 
 
 59 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 love of Thaddeus Seabury. Ah, the exordium 
 flashes across my mind ! Let the subject furnish 
 inspiration! (Aloud:) When in the course of 
 human events 
 
 Adelaide : Dear me ! You were talking poli- 
 tics all the time ! How stupid in me, to be sure ! 
 
 Seabtjry: When in the course of human — no, 
 I am wrong. 
 
 Adelaide: No, you are correct, Mr. Seabury. 
 The Declaration begins 
 
 Seabury : Not mine — not mine ! Mine has 
 nothing in common with the immortal document 
 which stands so conspicuously for American lib- 
 erty and American institutions ! In those mighty 
 days when the foundation — no ! Where was I ? 
 Oh, yes! I return to the original subject. When 
 lovely woman sits in pensive loneliness amid the 
 uproarious gayeties which mark this mighty me- 
 tropolis, when she languishes while jollity reigns 
 supreme and merry laughter peals upward to the 
 "beaming skies, it becomes the proud and happy 
 prerogative of man to alleviate her woe, to assuage 
 her grief, to soothe her sufferings, to transmit com- 
 fort and consolation and sympathy — in fact, to 
 rear a beautiful oasis where formerly bloomed a 
 desert of despair. (Aside:) Elegant figure of 
 speech that! (Aloud:) I beg of you, beauteous 
 
 60 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 madam, to scrutinize me. You behold a man who, 
 though not absolutely untainted by the vices of his 
 fellows, is yet endowed with a multitude of unex- 
 ceptionable attributes which recommend and in- 
 dorse him. A man too humble to profess perfec- 
 tion, yet conscious of conceded superiority in com- 
 parison with all competitors. A man, madam, not 
 of boastful propensities nor given to sounding his 
 own praises, yet who, in the exigencies of politics, 
 war, business, or love, may be depended upon not 
 only to fulfill supremest expectations, but to in- 
 finitely surpass them. A man, my dear madam, 
 whose inmost nature sympathizes with the yearn- 
 ings of the weaker sex, and whose soul longs to 
 unite with a kindred one and together sing the joy- 
 ous song of love ! Love, my dear Mrs. Lester ! 
 What does the poet say about love? 
 
 Adelaide: Love, Mr. Seabury! (Aside:) I 
 shall positively go distracted unless Dorothy re- 
 turns at once ! 
 
 Seabury: Ah! You understand — inconsol- 
 able — single blessedness 
 
 Adelaide: Explain yourself, Mr. Seabur.y. I 
 am at a loss to know what this all means. 
 
 Seabury: The inexpressible sentiments which 
 have gained a foothold within the confines of a 
 
 61 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 heart only too susceptible to the influence of lovely 
 woman 
 
 Adelaide: Sentiments for whom? 
 
 Seabury : Ah ! Who of all the beauteous bevy 
 that irradiates our existence could inspire such 
 tender emotions, such tremulous ebullitions, such 
 tumultuous outpourings, but the beautiful Mrs. 
 
 Lester? Thus I stoop to render homage and 
 
 (Falls on knees and seizes her hand as Dorothy 
 enters.) Oh ! (Groans and scrambles to his feet.) 
 
 Dorothy: Oh! I intrude. (Turns as if to 
 go.) Don't let me disturb you. 
 
 Adelaide: No, don't go, Dorothy. Mr. Sea- 
 bury is going. (Aside:) For Heaven's sake 
 don't leave me alone. 
 
 Seabury: Verily I am about to perambulate. 
 The season is inauspicious for further discussion 
 of the subject-matter at issue. At your conven- 
 ience, madam, I shall be happy to resume where 
 we are now constrained to terminate. Adieu, dear 
 madam, adieu! (Exit.) 
 
 Dorothy: Ha! ha! ha! I saw it all — from 
 the very beginning ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Wasn't 
 it delicious! Why, the man's positively in love 
 with you ! 
 
 62 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide : You saw it all ! Something very 
 important, indeed, that took you away so nimbly ! 
 Do you know, I half suspect that you were the in- 
 stigator of this little scene. Come, confess, mad- 
 cap ! 
 
 Dorothy: Guilty! I throw myself on the 
 mercy of the court! Pass sentence. I am ready. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! But really, Adelaide, you and Mr. 
 Seabury did look supremely ridiculous ! I wish 
 you could have seen yourself ! A symposium of 
 love with trimmings ! How we did enjoy it ! 
 
 Adelaide: We! So you had a confederate! 
 Oh, don't tell me ! I know ! And his name is Mr. 
 Carl Von Guttenberg. Leave it to Dorothy Dem- 
 ing to keep him out of mischief! She will find 
 work for willing hands. The idea of your taking 
 advantage of that kind, innocent, confiding Ger- 
 man gentleman ! Now, listen. I will forgive you 
 both — on one condition. 
 
 (Von Guttenberg shows himself at door several 
 times, but fears to approach.) 
 
 Dorothy: Make it easy. 
 Adelaide: Tell me instantly about your im- 
 portant news. 
 
 63 
 
IV AMMWAtt MRL, 
 
 Dorothy: Done. Maud Somerville retires 
 from the company in three weeks and you are to 
 take her place. I have the manager's note in my 
 room. 
 
 Adelaide: Isn't that lovely! (Kisses Dor- 
 othy impulsively.) Oh, you dear, kind girl, how 
 can I thank you ! 
 
 Dorothy : Don't. Thank yourself. Your own 
 ability wins you the place. 
 
 Adelaide : Dorothy dear, I tremble lest I fail. 
 
 Dorothy: Fail! In the bright lexicon of 
 youth — you know the rest. You can't fail. Let 
 me look at you. Why, you're a picture ! Young, 
 witty, beautiful 
 
 Adelaide: Hush, Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy: Talented, self-possessed, and per- 
 fectly comme il faut, as the Count would say. 
 
 Adelaide: If the public will but wear your 
 glasses, Dorothy, when I am under its critical 
 scrutiny, my success is assured. I fear me, how- 
 ever, that an admission fee is a harsh judge not 
 disposed to go to school with those who seek his 
 favor. 
 
 Dorothy : Never mind ! You shall see that I 
 am right. I think I know what the public wants. 
 (Von Guttenberg appears at door, hesitating 
 whether to enter.) Come in, Mr. Von Gutten- 
 
 64 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 berg. All is forgiven. By the way, "baron," may 
 I ask another favor of you ? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Certainly, yes, Miss Dor- 
 othy. (Looking askance at Adelaide.) But no 
 jokes any more with fine American ladies! 
 
 Dorothy: Honestly, no. Put him out of his 
 misery, Adelaide. 
 
 Adelaide: There, "baron," is my hand. The 
 culprit has confessed. You are entirely exon- 
 erated. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Ah, happy I now am. It 
 to me much grief would give to offend the Amer- 
 ican ladies. My many thanks I now say to you, 
 Mrs. Lester, and hope to always be friends with 
 you and Miss Dorothy. 
 
 Adelaide : Your friendship, Mr. Von Gutten- 
 berg, is highly valued. 
 
 Dorothy: Let me tell the "baron" the good 
 news. Adelaide joins our company and makes her 
 debut next month. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Indeed! I to hear it am 
 glad. Mrs. Lester will surely in her art become 
 famous. 
 
 Dorothy : There ! He coincides with me. 
 
 Adelaide: Your words, Mr. Von Guttenberg, 
 are most complimentary. But between obscurity 
 
 65 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 and fame yawns a wide gulf. It is not bridged in 
 a day. 
 
 Von Guttenberg : That I know. But you will 
 succeed, Mrs. Lester, when anything you try to do. 
 
 Dorothy: Now, "baron," get yourself ready. 
 I need you. 
 
 (Dorothy and Von Guttenberg turn to go as 
 Delamere enters.) 
 
 Adelaide (aside:) Mr. Delamere returned al- 
 ready ! What has happened ? 
 
 Delamere: Ah, ladies, I am glad to see you. 
 Mr. Yon Guttenberg, let me thank you for the as- 
 sistance rendered at our musicale last night. 
 
 (Von Guttenberg bows slightly.) 
 
 Dorothy: Excuse me, Mr. Delamere. I must 
 go, Adelaide. Baron, march! 
 
 Von Guttenberg goes out, followed by Doro- 
 thy.) 
 
 Adelaide : Have you 
 
 Delamere: Yes. I saw him. Frank is the 
 same as usual. Less optimistic, perhaps, but other- 
 wise unchanged. 
 
 Adelaide : Did he — he 
 
 Delamere: Speak of you? Yes, quite freely. 
 He is fully resigned to the separation. 
 
 Adelaide : He told you that ? 
 
 66 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere: Not exactly in those words. The 
 import was the same. He is one of those rare in- 
 dividuals who can always make a virtue of neces- 
 sity. He recognizes his inability to provide for 
 you the comforts to which you have been accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 Adelaide : And my child — did you see her ? 
 
 Delamere : No. Frank spoke of her — said all 
 was sunshine with her by his side. 
 
 Adelaide : Yes ! He has compensations ! My 
 absence is nothing! To be rid of a wife's ob- 
 noxious presence and still retain his daughter and 
 his books fills the measure of his desires. 
 
 Delamere: His theories absorb him. Frank 
 missed his vocation. He is the ideal pulpiteer. 
 
 Adelaide : So I learned, to my sorrow. He se- 
 lected me as the incarnation of that evil thing 
 called sin, and in the absence of a congregation on 
 my head alone poured the vials of his wrathful 
 eloquence ! 
 
 Delamere : A splendid fellow, but a dreamer ! 
 If successful, this mining venture will prove a 
 great boon to him. It will enable him to begin a 
 practical crusade for the regeneration of the 
 human race. At present the chances look doubt- 
 ful. We lack funds. 
 
 Adelaide: Is the amount large? 
 
 67 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere: Comparatively a mere bagatell 
 two thousand dollars; but 
 
 Adelaide: Two thousand dollars! (Sits at 
 table and writes check.) There is an order for the 
 amount. It is the remainder of the money he gave 
 me. I gladly return it to him. May it bring for- 
 tune to you both. 
 
 Delamere: A generous deed, Adelaide — cred- 
 itable alike to your heart and head. On my part, 
 a thousand thanks for your kindness. I presume 
 it is your intention to keep him in ignorance of the 
 source of this contribution? 
 
 Adelaide : Yes. I prefer it. 
 
 Delamere: You wish a receipt? 
 
 Adelaide : If I do not trouble you. 
 
 Delamere (sits at table) : In your name? 
 
 Adelaide (slowly) : No — in his. 
 
 Delamere (after writing) : There ! (Hands 
 receipt.) Perhaps this (holding up check) pre- 
 sages future affluence for us all ! 
 
 Adelaide : For your sake and his I truly hope 
 so. 
 
 Delamere: And for yours I pray that the 
 yield from our Arizona property will put to shame 
 even the fabled Pactolean sands. Is there noth- 
 ing I can do for you? 
 
 Adelaide : Nothing — at present. 
 
 68 
 
AX AMERICAN BAHti* 
 
 Delamere : Then, with your permission, I will 
 take my leave. I shall go direct to Arizona by 
 the first train. Command me upon my return. 
 Adieu. (Exit.) 
 
 Adelaide: My conscience is now unburdened. 
 Let the money be devoted to the rehabilitation of 
 his fortune. I do not need it. The promise of 
 future comforts for my darling child is infinite 
 repayment for the momentary sacrifice. God 
 grant the venture may prove successful (Seats 
 herself and looks at receipt.) The Earl Charles 
 mine ! A princely title ! It suggests 
 
 Enter Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston: Mrs. Lester, may I break in upon 
 your reveries just for one moment ? 
 
 Adelaide: Certainly, Mr. Widdeston. I may 
 have a word to say to you in return. (He takes 
 seat near her.) 
 
 Widdeston: I wish, Mrs. Lester, to consult 
 you on a very delicate matter. In fact, I know not 
 how to aproach it. 
 
 Adelaide: There must be a beginning, Mr. 
 Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston - : True. But this matter is so — so 
 different from the topics heretofore discussed that 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 you will — be — be amazed when you learn its pur- 
 port. 
 
 Adelaide: Why, you interest me, Mr. Wid- 
 deston. 
 
 Widdeston : Until an hour ago it was my firm 
 determination to take passage for Liverpool Sat- 
 urday. 
 
 Adelaide : Indeed ! And something induced 
 you to alter your plans — is that it, Mr. Widdes- 
 ton? 
 
 Widdeston : Exactly ! How did you know ? 
 
 Adelaide: Believe me, Mr. Widdeston, not 
 through psychic communication. A fortunate 
 guess. Please continue. 
 
 Widdeston: First, I must tell you how much 
 I admire your sweet friend, Miss Pearl West- 
 holme. I say admire, but it — it is not that. It is 
 love. It 
 
 Adelaide : I am delighted to hear it ! 
 
 Widdeston: You — you are? 
 
 Adelaide: Yes, exceedingly so. But go on, 
 please. 
 
 Widdeston: I love her. Being ignorant of 
 my passion, as I thought, her demeanor when I 
 acquainted her with my resolve to quit America 
 was inexplicable. It roused a hope that — perhaps 
 — she — loved me in return. (Rises.) A foolish 
 
 70 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 thought ! A groundless hope ! But they urge me 
 to persevere until my tate is known. Tell me, 
 can I approach her — can I, without violence to her 
 heavenly innocence, make known the cherished 
 hopes that fill my heart ? 
 
 Adelaide: To leave unsaid a love that en- 
 nobles you and honors its object were to do a two- 
 fold injury. The love of an honorable man is too 
 valuable a possession to be lightly regarded, even 
 by the most exalted of our sex. My advice is, ac- 
 quaint her with your feelings at the first favorable 
 opportunity. 
 
 Widdeston: I thank you, Mrs. Lester, from 
 the bottom of my heart ! Your words decide me ! 
 Adelaide: Pearls without price are not to be 
 
 won every day. They (He sits near her.) 
 
 Oh, by the way, Mr. Widdeston, what do you know 
 about mining? 
 
 Widdeston: Mining! A most startling di- 
 gression! I — to be sure — excuse me, but am I 
 mistaken in my impression that — ahem ! — the ten- 
 der passion was the theme of our discourse ? 
 
 Adelaide: You are quite right, Mr. Widdes- 
 ton. It was the theme. But the subject has been 
 changed — for the present. 
 Widdeston : Ah ! 
 
 Adelaide: Shortly before you entered I made 
 
 71 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 an investment in a mining property. My — that is, 
 Mr. Delamere is also interested. He goes at once 
 to Arizona, where this mine, the Earl Charles, 
 is 
 
 Widdeston (jumps up, almost shouting) : The 
 Earl Charles! 
 
 Adelaide: Why, yes. You seem surprised. 
 Are you acquainted 
 
 Widdeston: The Earl Charles mine! The 
 Earl Charles ! (Dashes to table, seizes pen, writes 
 message, and rings bell.) The Earl Charles mine ! 
 
 Enter bell-boy. 
 
 Here ! Quick ! Get that off to J. B. Bagsby, 
 Hotel St. George, without a moment's delay ! Go ! 
 Good ! A clew ! A clew at last ! 
 
 Adelaide : The man has surely lost his reason ! 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 END of ACT II. 
 
 72 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 One month is supposed to elapse between Acts 
 II. and III. 
 
 Scene 1. Frank Milward's study. Same as Act 
 II., Scene 1. The room is bare except for 
 packed trunk at one side and box ready for ship- 
 ping at the other. 
 
 Milward enters, with letters in his hand. 
 
 Milward {looking at letter) : From father. I 
 know its contents ere I open it. He welcomes me 
 back from my self-imposed banishment to that 
 quiet home in the South which I left so full of con- 
 fidence ten years ago. So ends my dream of fame ! 
 George Stanley's hand ! What has he to say ? 
 (Tears edge of envelope, then pauses.) No! Is 
 he not dead to me? Why resurrect his memory? 
 
 73 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Why renew even in thought a connection now sun- 
 dered forever? (Tears letter into bits and throws 
 on floor. Takes third letter.) What's this? 
 Postmarked New York, October 16. Decidedly 
 foreign hand. Who is it? (Opens letter and 
 reads:) "Mr. Frank Milward, Albany, N. Y. — 
 Dear Sir : I will your pardon already ask for the 
 address to you by one a stranger of this letter. By 
 accident it to me has been discovered who your 
 wife is. A bad friend is around her — a man. 
 Many things which I have seen and heard she does 
 not know anything about. I have thought that it 
 would be good if you did know what was going on. 
 So this letter I write. When you shall more want 
 to know I will meet you at Fifth Avenue Hotel 
 Monday night next week at nine o'clock. I will to 
 you be known by boutonniere of violets in coat 
 lapel and will by the office stand. My bad English 
 I ask you to excuse, as I cannot yet well write. 
 Yours in respect, Carl Yon Guttenberg." What 
 am I to think of that ? A decoy letter — a pretext 
 on Adelaide's part to discover if I am prepared to 
 resume relations with her — or is she already under 
 the influence of some courtly reprobate who will 
 flatter her to her ruin? Society has many such 
 whose sole pastime is the defilement of women. 
 (Looking at letter.) "A bad friend around her." 
 
 74 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Those words ring true. Sincerity is stamped in 
 their very style — plain, homely, honest. "Monday 
 night." That's to-night. I have just time enough 
 to catch a train that reaches the city at eight. The 
 matter is worth exploring if only to satisfy my- 
 self that she is well — if not happy. 
 
 Enter Violet. 
 
 (He takes her in his arms.) Papa must leave 
 you again, darling — at once. 
 
 Violet : Dear, kind papa, won't you take me ? 
 
 Milward: Not now, love. Soon we shall go 
 together on a long and pleasant trip. So be pa- 
 tient. Eun and tell nurse I wish to see her. 
 
 Violet: Yes, dear papa. (Exit.) 
 
 Milward : A few hours at most and all will be 
 clear to me. Can she really be threatened ? Or is 
 it some prying Paul who idly seeks to dabble in the 
 affairs of others? Whatever it be, my poor Ade- 
 laide, to expose yourself to risk were needless. 
 Here you were safe. To ward off harm from you, 
 the husband you despised would willingly have 
 interposed his own life. (Exit.) 
 
 END OF SCENE 1. 
 
 75 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Scene 2. Parlors of the Hotel Glenalvon. Same 
 as Act I. 
 
 Enter Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston: Now, if Bagsby has made a good 
 job of this matter there is reason to believe that 
 this mystery will be finally cleared up. What pos- 
 sible connection, if any, could Delamere have had 
 with the Earl? It is more than a mere coinci- 
 dence that a mine has been named after the Earl. 
 Strange ! very strange ! And Mrs. Lester, who 
 knows absolutely nothing of the property, is in- 
 duced by Mr. Delamere to invest a cold two thou- 
 sand dollars ! A still more remarkable fact ! Well, 
 I look to Bagsby to throw light on these peculiar 
 transactions. 
 
 Enter Bagsby. 
 
 Ah, Bagsby ! Good ! Now your story, quick ! 
 
 Bagsby: Arizona 0. K. Found the mine. 
 Apache County. Disguised myself as miner. Saw 
 'em both. Delamere and Monks. Monks is the 
 engineer. Showed me through mine. Great. Bar- 
 rels of gold. Had talk with Delamere. Mine once 
 called the Montreal lode. Afterward changed to 
 Earl Charles. Said I, "Why?" Said he, "Mem- 
 ory of friend/' 
 
 Widdeston : Did he say that ? 
 
 76 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Bagsby : Eight he did. I kept pumping. Care- 
 less like. "Englishman ?" said I. "Oh, yes ! Eeal 
 Earl/' says he. "Dead many years, but his name 
 lives." 
 
 Widdeston: He told you the Earl was dead? 
 Great gods ! Bagsby, could he — go on ! go on ! 
 
 Bagsby: Delamere says accident. Says Earl's 
 rifle fell. Shot himself. That's all from Dela- 
 mere. Waited till he left. Talked to Monks. No 
 different. Found out man in Albany owns part 
 of mine. 
 
 Widdeston: And his name? 
 
 Bagsby: Milward — Frank Milward. 
 
 Widdeston: Good! Now get away to Albany 
 by the first train. Find Milward. Learn all you 
 can from him. We are on the right scent at last, 
 Bagsby. Don't delay. Come back here the in- 
 stant you are through with Milward. (Exit Bags- 
 by.) So they were friends ! The Earl and Dela- 
 mere ! Perhaps the story is true. It is pos- 
 sible that the Earl was killed by accident. Dela- 
 mere will be here to-day. I shall sound him. I 
 shall draw him out. If he speaks frankly, further 
 secrecy on my part will be unnecessary. I will 
 then acquaint him with my mission here. The 
 Earl is dead — as I anticipated. It is a doleful 
 
 77 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 truth, yet far to be preferred to harrowing uncer- 
 tainty. (Exit.) 
 
 Enter Adelaide and Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy: The final rehearsal went off "pat." 
 You object to slang, I know, Adelaide, but a little 
 of it now and then is relished by the best of men — 
 and soubrettes. You carried off the honors, just 
 as I said. 
 
 Adelaide: Wait till the verdict of to-night. 
 The crucial test is still to come. 
 
 Dorothy : Are you nervous ? 
 
 Adelaide: Not physically. But so much de- 
 pends on my success that I may be pardoned if I 
 have misgivings. 
 
 Dorothy: The part fits you like a glove. 
 There's the advantage of being a married woman. 
 Your lessons of life are worth something to you 
 now. 
 
 Adelaide : Would to Heaven, Dorothy, I could 
 exchange them all for a few that are necessary in 
 my new career ! Alas ! the baser metal cannot be 
 transmuted into glittering gold! I do not de- 
 ceive myself, Dorothy. I must stand or fall purely 
 on my merits. 
 
 Dorothy : Oh, don't be so serious. You give 
 
 78 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 me the "blues." Why, my dear Adelaide, you will 
 have everything your own way. Your beauty, tal- 
 ent, style 
 
 Adelaide: Come, come, Dorothy, no flattery. 
 
 Dorothy: It is not flattery. You know you 
 are beautiful. Listen while I whisper a secret into 
 your ear. Beauty always wins the battle in pub- 
 lic. Now, you also have talent. Talent is glori- 
 ous. Put beauty and talent together, and nothing 
 can resist the combination. There you are ! 
 
 Adelaide (laughing) : Your enthusiasm is 
 contagious. I have caught some of it. Surely I 
 cannot fail after all my hard work? 
 
 Dorothy : Never ! 
 
 Enter Von Guttenberg. 
 
 Oh, "baron," I want you! Another commis- 
 sion. Have you seen the Count to-day ? He prom- 
 ised to buy a box for the performance to-night. 
 The house will be full — but the nobilities partic- 
 ularly must not disappoint us. A French Count, 
 a German Baron 
 
 Von" Guttenberg: Now, Miss Dorothy, I no 
 baron am. 
 
 Dorothy: Then I will create you one. On 
 your knees, sir, and receive the decree of your im- 
 
 79 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 perial sovereign. (He falls on one knee.) Wor- 
 thy knight, yon have done onr errands well. You 
 have never been known to cavil at onr royal com- 
 mands. Yon have borne with trne knightly dig- 
 nity the scoldings of yonr imperial mistress. Yon 
 have in all things obeyed us. Therefore it is our 
 imperial pleasure to bestow upon the knight at our 
 feet the well-earned title, Baron Carl of Gutten- 
 berg and Manhattan. Kise, then, Baron, assume 
 thy new estate, and henceforth be known by the 
 title now conferred. (He rises.) 
 
 Adelaide: Baron — excuse me, Mr. Von Gut- 
 tenberg, don't let Dorothy's pranks cause you any 
 annoyance. She was born under a merry star. 
 Persiflage is her meat and drink. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Could Miss Dorothy Ger- 
 man understand, then — then 
 
 Dorothy: You would retaliate, eh? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Yes — ret — t-t-liate. That 
 the word is. In German can I speak quick, fast, 
 but in English, oh, me ! I can never the language 
 learn. It too difficult is. 
 
 Adelaide: Now, Dorothy, never permit your- 
 self to take such liberties with Mr. Von Gutten- 
 berg again. It's a shame ! 
 
 Dorothy: He is not offended. Are you, 
 "baron?" 
 
 80 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Indeed not, Miss Dorothy. 
 When a good joke is, I laugh. (Laughs.) 
 
 Dorothy: There! He understands a joke, 
 even if it is in English — or American ! 
 
 Von Guttenberg : Oh, I can understand, Miss 
 Dorothy. The American girls so lively are — so 
 
 jolly. In Germany the girls — more — more 
 
 Ach ! what we call schuchtern — schuchternheit. 
 
 Adelaide: Diffident, Mr. Von Guttenberg? 
 
 Dorothy: Bashful, perhaps? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Yes, that is it — bashful! 
 The German girls more bashful are. 
 
 Dorothy: Which do you like best, "baron?'' 
 
 Von Guttenberg : They are nice both. When 
 we in Germany could have always lively girls like 
 you, Miss Dorothy, it would a different Germany 
 be. Could I English better know, then I could ex- 
 plain exactly what my meaning is. But I two 
 years more shall stay in this country, and I learn 
 — I learn. 
 
 Dorothy : That you will, "baron." 
 
 Enter Widdeston. 
 (Dorothy and Von Guttenberg retire haclc.) 
 
 Widdeston: Mrs. Lester, do you expect Mr. 
 Delamere to-day? 
 
 81 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide : He promised to call this afternoon. 
 
 Widdeston: I have just learned that one of 
 the owners of the Earl Charles mine resides in Al- 
 bany. 
 
 Adelaide {quickly): How did yon learn it? 
 Not from Mr. Delamere? 
 
 Widdeston: No. The information came from 
 another source. You will pardon me if I ask fur- 
 ther questions regarding this mine. I have a deep 
 interest in the matter which later shall be ex- 
 plained to you. This owner in Albany — Milward 
 — do you know anything of him? 
 
 Adelaide: Only through Mr. Delamere. As 
 I told you before, my connection with the mine 
 extends no further than the small sum which I 
 have invested. Mr. Delamere is merely my agent 
 in the transaction. He will surely be here very 
 soon, and doubtless will be glad to enlighten vou 
 fully. 
 
 (Dokothy and Von Guttenberg approach.) 
 
 Dorothy: You will not disappoint us to- 
 night, Mr. Widdeston? 
 
 Widdeston : By no means. I assure you I look 
 forward to the event with unmixed pleasure. 
 
 {Turning to Adelaide.) If Mrs. Lester 
 
 82 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Delamere. 
 
 Adelaide: Here is Mr. Delamere. (To Dela- 
 mere:) I will be ready in ten minutes. Please 
 excuse me, Mr. Widdeston. Come, Dorothy, I 
 must have a final word with you in my room. 
 (As they are about to leave the room Dorothy 
 
 turns and speaks to Von Guttenberg, who is 
 
 near door.) 
 
 Dorothy: Baron, can I trouble you to do me 
 a small favor? Come with us. I won't keep you 
 in suspense. (Exeunt Adelaide and Dorothy, 
 followed by Von Guttenberg.) 
 
 Widdeston: Mrs. Lester casually mentioned 
 in my presence that through you she had invested 
 some funds in a mining property. Having some 
 idle capital — not a large sum — perhaps I can in- 
 duce you to interest yourself in my behalf. Should 
 the mine require further capital for develop- 
 ment 
 
 Delamere: One month ago your offer would 
 have been considered with pleasure. The mine is 
 now paying handsomely. Whether it will con- 
 tinue to do so no one can tell. A mine sometimes 
 plays queer pranks. If matters take a less fortu- 
 nate turn, I shall then be willing to negotiate 
 with you. 
 
 83 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Widdeston: Good. This mine, I believe Mrs. 
 Lester said, is located in Arizona? 
 
 Delamere: Apache County, Arizona. Eich 
 throughout in gold-bearing quartz. 
 
 Widdeston : And the name — let me see — is 
 
 Delamere: The Earl Charles. 
 
 Widdeston: Yes, now I remember. Quite 
 English. Named, doubtless, by the original owner 
 ■ — perhaps an Englishman. 
 
 Delamere : Most likely. 
 
 Widdeston : You did not know him ? 
 
 Delamere: No. Monks, my engineer, is an 
 Englishman. He is acquainted with the history 
 of the mine, although I am not. At one time it 
 bore the name of the Montreal lode, but was after- 
 ward changed to the Earl Charles. 
 
 Widdeston (carelessly) : Who was this Earl 
 Charles ? 
 
 Delamere (starting) : Earl Charles? 
 
 Widdeston : Yes. You never saw him, I pre- 
 sume? 
 
 Delamere: Who — I? Why, I don't know 
 that he ever lived. As I understand, the name is 
 purely fanciful. 
 
 Widdeston: Being an Englishman, the title 
 naturally attracted my attention. It may sound 
 strange, even foolish, but I would risk my money 
 
 84 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 quicker in a mine with an English title than in 
 any other, no matter where located. Therefore I 
 hope the Earl Charles may yet gratify my desire 
 for an investment. 
 
 Delamere: I shall not forget you. 
 
 Enter Adelaide. 
 
 Adelaide: I am ready. 
 
 Delamere: Very well. A good-afternoon to 
 you, Mr. Widdeston. (Adelaide and Delamere 
 both exit.) 
 
 Widdeston" : The cat's out of the bag at last ! 
 So he doesn't know that the Earl ever lived ! And 
 I marked him change color when I suddenly men- 
 tioned the Earl. He has something to conceal ! 
 What, unless it be to cover up a crime in which 
 he is implicated? What motive can he have in 
 denying a deed that by his own admission leaves 
 him clear ? There is more to this ! He is not 
 honest ! He fears the truth ! He lies glibly ! 
 He spoke freely to Bagsby — why not to me? A 
 link is still missing! What is it? Let me see. 
 A young Earl runs away from home, comes to 
 America, and forms an attachment with an ad- 
 venturous lad of his own age. Together they go 
 West to seek their fortune. Time passes. Boy- 
 
 85 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 like, they have sworn eternal fidelity to each other. 
 They will share equally whatever of wealth the 
 great region has in store. The Earl chances to 
 light upon a nugget, and impelled by momentary 
 cupidity, refuses his comrade's demand for a share. 
 They quarrel. In the heat of passion he is killed 
 by his friend, who, stricken with remorse, after- 
 ward rears a monument to the dead, in the name 
 of this mine in Arizona — his only expiation ! So 
 the sad tale surely runs. Yes, it is clear ! Dela- 
 mere the friend! Delamere the slayer! (Exit.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Westholme and Pearl. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme : Tut ! tut ! my dear. Love 
 is only a relative condition, after all. The Count 
 positively adores you. 
 
 Pearl : But I don't adore him ! I agree with 
 you, mamma, that he is very nice, but if I cannot 
 love 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: Love again! Listen to 
 your mother, Pearl. You are entirely too young 
 to be a judge of your own feelings. 
 
 Pearl: Then, mamma, why not let me wait 
 until I am old enough to be a proper judge ? 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: Ah, my love, I might be 
 dead by that time. I want you to be happy while 
 I am alive, so I can enjoy it with you. 
 
 86 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Pearl: You would not enjoy my misery, 
 mamma ? 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: Misery, child? Don't 
 speak foolishly. Such an opportunity as the pres- 
 ent will never come again. Do you suppose the 
 Count need look below a multi-millionairess in an 
 American alliance? It is true you have excel- 
 lent prospects, but your uncle is hale and hearty 
 and may live many years. What your father left 
 has enabled us to live in comfortable style, but it 
 has not sufficed to lift you into the category of 
 eligibles for a French Count. There is where I 
 have exercised diplomacy. Ah, my dear, leave it 
 to the mothers to look after the welfare of their 
 children ! 
 
 Pearl : Yes, dear mamma, you have done every- 
 thing to make me happy. And now you are de- 
 termined to make me miserable. I cannot love 
 the Count — I can never be happy with him. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: So long as you have no 
 positive aversion to him you need not fear for the 
 future. He will take good care of your happiness. 
 As a French Countess your time, I hope, will be 
 better occupied than in worrying over these little 
 matters of sentiment. A brilliant marriage for 
 my only daughter has been my dream. I look to 
 you, love, to realize it. 
 
 87 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Pearl: Perhaps I am foolish and stubborn, 
 mamma. I cannot help feeling that to marry with- 
 out love is a great mistake, even though one 
 does make a brilliant marriage. What is love 
 good for if it doesn't prompt us when we hope the 
 most ? 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: You will reason different- 
 ly, my dear, after you are married. 
 
 Pearl: Besides, dear mamma, it is all so sud- 
 den. You know how unprepared I am to make 
 a decision. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme: That has already been at- 
 tended to. You have merely to say yes when the 
 Count comes. A little word, easily said, my dear. 
 
 Pearl: Easily said, but full of doubt and 
 dread to me. 
 
 Mrs. Westholme : Think what it brings you ! 
 Now, dear, I will leave you. The Count will be 
 soon here. Eemember, he has no need to go beg- 
 ging for a wife. Designing people with nothing 
 but money to recommend them are ready to snap 
 him up at any moment. Follow your mother's 
 wishes, and in two weeks you will be the proud 
 and envied Countess Pearl de Lempriere. (Exit.) 
 
 Pearl : What am I to do ? Mamma has set her 
 heart on my marrying the Count, and I haven't 
 the least regard for him — that is, as a future hus- 
 
 88 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 band. I don't want to disappoint mamma. She is 
 anxious for my happiness, I know. But I don't 
 care for the Count. Why should I marry him? 
 Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do? He 
 will be here presently and will expect an answer. 
 Mamma will tell him I am waiting for him. What 
 shall I do? If there were only a way to put it 
 off until — until some one else had a chance to 
 speak first! Oh, dear, how they do harass and 
 torment poor little me ! I don't want to get mar- 
 ried, and — and — I shall never get married. 
 There ! 
 
 (Sits and weeps silently.) 
 
 Enter Widdeston". 
 
 (He carries some flowers in his hand. Pearl 
 does not observe his entrance. He quietly places 
 flowers on chair beside her, then softly with- 
 draws.) 
 
 Pearl (rising) : I am resolved. Come what 
 may, I shall not marry the Count ! (Sees flow- 
 ers.) How fresh and fragrant ! Who could have 
 left them? 
 
 (Widdeston approaches.) 
 
 I have you to thank for these lovely flowers, 
 have I not, Mr. Widdeston? 
 
 89 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Widdeston : Yon honor me by accepting them. 
 
 Pearl: I assure yon, they are accepted most 
 gratefully. Won't you be seated, Mr. Widdeston ? 
 (She sits at one end of divan and makes room 
 for him.) I missed you at dinner to-day. 
 
 Widdeston: You did really miss me? 
 
 Pearl : Why, certainly ! What a queer ques- 
 tion! 
 
 Widdeston (speaking rapidly) : No, not a 
 queer question when you know what prompted it. 
 When you know what a word from your lips signi- 
 fies to me. When you know the bliss that your 
 faintest smile bestows. When you know how I 
 have longed for this moment, to sit near you, to 
 touch your hand, to feel that you would not repel 
 me. Ah, loveliest of mortals ! Have your eyes not 
 taught you my heart and its silent, deep devotion ? 
 Have I concealed my love so well that it has 
 passed unheeded even as the flower heeds not the 
 bee that sips its sweets? I am unworthy, yet I 
 ask — I ask the priceless possession of your pure 
 young love ! Can you — can you 
 
 (She droops yieldingly as he Tcisses her hand. 
 Then talcing her in his arms he hisses her lips. 
 She suddenly disengages herself and rises.) 
 
 Pearl: Please leave me now. The Count is 
 coming. Mamma intends to send him at once. 
 
 9Q 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (He hesitates.) Do not fear to leave me alone 
 with him. I — you — you are the only one I — I — 
 love! (He catches her in his arms.) Now won't 
 you please go? (Widdeston exits. She sits 
 and fastens flowers in her bodice, etc.) Oh, how 
 strange I feel ! It seems like a dream ! I won- 
 der if it is all true ! I wish he would come back 
 — and — and — tell it all over again! I could lis- 
 ten to him forever! Love, and love, and love — 
 oh ! I am so happy ! 
 
 Enter Count. 
 
 Count: Ah, Miss Pearl! (She rises.) You 
 are alone. You have waited. I thank you. 
 del! Ah, the blue — the blue, like the beautiful 
 sky — it is the perfect complement for your com- 
 plexion! You are the lily — so fair! 
 
 Pearl (They sit) : Your words are very kind, 
 Count. 
 
 Count: In my country there is seldom seen 
 the pure blonde. But here in your city I have 
 already seen every type. The American women 
 are beautiful. They have individuality — more, 
 indeed, than is found in those of any other coun- 
 try. I am charmed! 
 
 Pearl : It pleases me to think that you have so 
 favorable an opinion of our women. I am sure 
 
 91 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 we try to be worthy the regard of every true man 
 in the world. 
 
 Count : And it is deserved ! 
 
 Pearl: Speaking of complexions, Count, you 
 are much fairer than many of your countrymen 
 whom I met while in France. 
 
 Count: Have I not explained? In my blood 
 runs a strain of the Anglo-Saxon. It dates from 
 the fifth Henry. Neither time nor climate has 
 had the power to impair its visible aspect. 
 
 Pearl : The fifth Henry ! Gracious ! Your; 
 pedigree is long ! 
 
 Count: We are proud of it. Few in France 
 point to a nobler one. 
 
 Pearl: You certainly have good reason to be 
 proud of your ancestry. 
 
 Count: For five centuries the line has been 
 unbroken. My family was old when Columbus 
 discovered America. It has been identified ac- 
 tively with many of the greatest movements of 
 Europe. My great-grandfather and his brother 
 both came to this country with the Marquis de la 
 Fayette during your war for independence. In 
 our possession is an original account of much 
 which has not yet been published in your his- 
 tories. 
 
 92 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Pearl: Why, I had no idea, Count, that your 
 family was so distinguished. 
 
 Count: You are pleased to say it. It is my 
 ardent desire that soon you shall have a closer 
 acquaintance with my family. (A pause.) The 
 hope is here — the hope has been since first we met 
 on the Boulevard at Nice. That day — that day — 
 you remember ! The rain — how it dashed ! The 
 wind — how it surged ! The drive at a gallop to 
 the hotel ! Ah ! it is yesterday ! Can you not 
 see, Miss Pearl ? I honor you ! I love you ! At 
 your feet I lay everything — lands, titles 
 
 Pearl: Please — please rise, Count. I, though 
 it deeply grieves me, must speak plainly. It is 
 impossible — I cannot be your wife ! 
 
 Count: You — what is this? You cannot? 
 A-h-h ! You do not love — you — ah ! terrible ! ter- 
 rible ! 
 
 Pearl: I highly respect you, Count. That is 
 all. 
 
 Count : Blackness is here before my eyes ! It 
 is cruel ! You I do not blame ! I was blind ! I 
 was blind! There is another! But I did not 
 think! Ah! It is terrible — terrible! 
 
 Pearl : May I hope, Count, that you will for- 
 get her who is the innocent cause of all your suf- 
 fering ? 
 
 93 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Count: Forget? Never! I cannot forget! 
 It has been my one passion! May happiness be 
 yours ! I shall go from here ! Misery be mine 
 forever! Adien! Adieu! (Exit.) 
 
 Pearl : Poor Count ! How I pity him ! It 
 is the first time, and I pray it may be the last, 
 that I bring anguish to any human heart ! 
 
 END OE SCENE 2. 
 
 Scene S. A street. 
 Enter Von Guttenberg and Mil ward. Mil- 
 ward wears false beard. 
 
 Milward: So she makes her debut to-night. 
 Delamere is not a member of the company? 
 
 Yon Guttenberg: No, but he friends is 
 with all the actors and actresses. He a fine 
 musician is. 
 
 Milward: Think you they will leave the 
 theater soon? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Only when the play is 
 done. They will all then to Herrick's cafe go. 
 
 94 
 
AN AMERICAN EABU 
 
 Delamere will a supper give to Mrs. Les — your 
 wife, and the actors and actresses also he has in- 
 vited. 
 
 Milward: Is the place respectable? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: That I cannot sure say. 
 I have never in there been. It is a place for the 
 actors the most. Always it is gay and lively. 
 
 Milward: You have definite suspicions of 
 Delamere's intentions toward my wife? 
 
 Von Guttenberg : I will tell you. When I did 
 learn that she was your wife I watched. He al- 
 ways was to her very friendly. I followed him one 
 day and to the exchange he went. Then I saw how 
 he did gamble. He much was excited, buying — 
 buying everything. I went away and the next 
 day I again went. He was there. A man to me 
 pointed him out and said that he much money did 
 lose the day before. So I waited and found he 
 was losing again more. After I watched him and 
 he did go to all kinds of bad places. He made 
 free with the street women, and ach ! what a 
 man to be with nice ladies like your wife ! 
 
 Milward: You are right, my friend. Such 
 a man as he has no place amid decent society. 
 Listen. He was once my dearest friend. He has 
 grievously deceived me — as he, no doubt, will de- 
 ceive my wife. At another time I will tell you 
 
 95 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 the whole story. Where can you be seen in the 
 morning ? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: If yon wish, at Fifth 
 Avenne Hotel. 
 
 Milward: Good. I shonld much desire a 
 parting word with you. Believe me, the concern 
 you have displayed for an entire stranger shall 
 not soon be forgotten. At present I can offer 
 nothing but thanks. (Grasps Von Guttenberg's 
 hand. ) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Mr. Milward, what I can 
 do I will. I at ten will meet you at the hotel. 
 When I can serve you it will make me happy. 
 
 Milward: Once more, I thank you! (Von 
 Guttenberg exits.) As true a man as ever 
 breathed, or I am no judge of an honest heart ! 
 Now which way lies duty? What course is best? 
 Shall I play the spy or go to her and implore 
 her to return? Suppose their diversions are 
 innocent? Will they not laugh at me — hurl con- 
 tempt upon my head? Will she not ask why 
 I dare to meddle in her affairs ? What can I say 
 — how explain my presence? She will despise 
 me the more for spying upon her after I had 
 given her freedom. Ah! then their close friend- 
 ship ! Have they both deceived me ? Was their 
 meeting accidental ? I am tortured by doubt. Is 
 
 96 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 it not better to remain in ignorance than to know 
 a truth that may condemn her ? I can do nothing 
 — neither to warn or guard her. My hands are 
 tied. I know not which way to turn. Be my 
 resolve what it may, this role ill befits me. Away 
 with the badge of distrust and foul suspicion that 
 implies a stain upon the mother of my child! 
 (Plucks off beard and casts it to the ground.) It 
 is unworthy a man of honor ! She has chosen her 
 path! My God! yes! Then mine lies here! 
 (Goes out.) 
 
 END OF SCENE 3. 
 
 Scene 4. Interior of cafe. Doors, C. and B. 
 At L. a private compartment, the interior being 
 in full view of the audience, containing table, two 
 chairs, and lounging couch; on table are bottles 
 and glasses. Door leading from main interior 
 into private compartment. In center of stage 
 large table, at which, as scene opens, are discovered 
 Adelaide at head, facing the audience, Dela- 
 mere at her light, Dorothy at her left, and other 
 members of the theatrical company suitably dis- 
 persed. Scene opens to a burst of laughter. 
 
 Delamere (rising) : And now drink again to 
 
 97 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 the success of the beautiful Adelaide Lester, the 
 queen of the American stage ! 
 
 All : Hear ! hear ! Speech ! speech ! 
 
 Adelaide: Friends, I cannot express how 
 grateful I am for your most cordial reception. I 
 came among you a total stranger only one month 
 ago, and to-night I feel as though I had known 
 each and every one in this company for years. I 
 fully realize that without your assistance my part 
 would have been a failure. For myself I can say 
 that my poor talents 
 
 First Gent: You made the <f hit" of the sea- 
 son ! Poor talents ! 
 
 Dorothy (pulling Adelaide) : Sit down, 
 Adelaide ! We have heard that sort of talk be- 
 fore. And for gracious sake stop blushing. 
 
 Adelaide: Blushing! Why, I am not blush- 
 ing! 
 
 Dorothy: Oh, no! She isn't blushing, is 
 she? 
 
 All (laughing) : Just a rosy little tint, that's 
 all! 
 
 Adelaide : Am I, Mr. Delamere ? 
 
 Delamere (looking at her critically) : A tinge 
 of rouge. Nothing more. Let me decide this 
 matter. (Takes handkerchief, puts his arm about 
 her neck, and proceeds to rub.) 
 
 98 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 First Lady: He's making a pretty mess of 
 
 it! 
 
 Second Lady : It's worse than ever ! 
 
 Dorothy: Did you ever know a man who 
 could tell the difference between a made-up and 
 an every-day face? 
 
 First Lady: Why, they don't know paint 
 from powder! 
 
 Adelaide: And Mr. Delamere is easily placed 
 in this category. I grant his ability to distinguish 
 himself as a massage artist. He could make quite 
 an impression on the Venus de Milo. But I shall 
 advise him to confine his talents to the manipula- 
 tion of statues, and not aspire to become a beauty 
 specialist. As such he would undeniably prove a 
 dismal failure. In neither case could he count on 
 my patronage. 
 
 Delamere : I will submit that Adelaide is not 
 a competent judge of my abilities. She needs no 
 make-up. With her it is a waste of time to put 
 on the finishing touches. Art is a wholly super- 
 fluous adjunct to the brilliant natural perfections 
 of our guest of honor. 
 
 Dorothy : Would you just listen to him ! It's 
 your turn now, Adelaide. Pay him back in his 
 own coin. And don't spare him, either. 
 
 Adelaide: You must understand, friends, 
 
 99 
 
 l.*jc. 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 that Mr. Delamere is a poet. To be one of the 
 long-haired genus is to admit that the imagina- 
 tion knows no bounds — that it is perfervid. 
 Minus an imagination of the perfervid variety, 
 Mr. Delamere would degenerate into a mere mor- 
 tal — like any one of us. He must keep up the 
 illusion — or delusion, whichever you please — that 
 woman is a goddess, no matter what his private 
 belief may be. It would be ruination to his art 
 to speak the cold, unsympathetic truth as we com- 
 mon mortals usually see it. To him we are 
 clothed in rainbow tints that captivate the eye and 
 bring rapture to the soul. Is it strange, then, 
 that upon the slightest provocation he unslings 
 his ever-ready lyre and sounds paeans to the glory 
 of our sex? 
 
 All: No! no! (All applaud.) 
 
 First Gent: Bravo! The poet's outdone! 
 
 Second Gent: Good for Miss Lester! 
 
 First Gent (drinking) : Here's to the ladies 
 — God bless 'em ! 
 
 Second Gent: Hurrah for the poet! 
 
 Third Gent : A poem by the poet ! Give us 
 a recitation ! 
 
 Dorothy : No, a song — a song ! 
 
 First Lady : Yes, Mr. Delamere, a song ! Do 
 oblige us! 
 
 100 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Second Lady: Why can't he read some verses 
 afterward ? 
 
 Dorothy : To be sure ! A song first and the 
 verses to follow ! Come, Mr. Delamere, we're 
 waiting ! 
 
 Delamere: Excuse me, we are neglecting the 
 wine. (He fills Adelaide's glass. Rises.) 
 Here's good luck to all ! May our lives ever be as 
 free from care as they are to-night ! May we look 
 back upon this night of festivity as a fit baptism 
 for the future histrionic star — the peerless 
 Adelaide Lester ! May she reach the pinnacle of 
 her ambition in her chosen profession ! And may 
 you all receive due reward for your efforts in the 
 same direction ! 
 
 All: Hear! hear! (All drink.) 
 
 Dorothy : Now the song ! 
 
 (Delamere sings. All applaud.) 
 
 All: Good! Splendid! Another! Another! 
 
 First Gent (rising unsteadily) : No ! I'm 
 next. Lemme sing. Hold on ! Waiter ! More 
 wine! Watch the bottles! Fill up again! 
 Healsh M-s-h Lester! Here's to everybody! 
 Hurrah! (All drink.) 
 
 (First Gent sings drunkenly a stanza or two. 
 All applaud and lie drinks again. As lie finishes 
 Ms glass lie topples over and drags his neighbor 
 
 101 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 with him. They roll under table, overturning 
 their chairs as they do so. The ladies jump up ex- 
 citedly and run off through Door, R. Adelaide, 
 dazed by the wine she has drunk, staggers toward 
 L. and enters private compartment. She throws 
 herself on couch. Delamere, who has been 
 watching her, softly closes door. Meanwhile the 
 First and Second Gents have regained their 
 equilibrium and with the Third Gent go out, 
 Door, R. Waiter enters, C. D. Delamere hands 
 him bill. He clears off main table, turns down 
 lights, and exits, C. D. Delamere enters private 
 room, gazes for a moment at the motionless form 
 of Adelaide, then kneels at her side and clasps 
 her in his arms. He showers kisses upon her lips, 
 while she, still in a stupor, half raises herself, not 
 knowing what she does, and throws her arms 
 around his neck. Music as curtain descends.) 
 
 CUKTAHST. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 102 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Time: The next morning. 
 
 Scene 1. Adelaide's boudoir. She is dis- 
 covered half reclining in easy-chair. 
 
 Adelaide : What a hideous nightmare ! Hor- 
 rible dream ! Am I awake or do I yet sleep ? 
 Sleep — dream ? No, it was no dream ! Would to 
 God it were ! Let me be calm — let me think ! 
 
 What — what (Rises.) I am still dazed! 
 
 My head reels ! Oh, my temples ! What misery ! 
 what misery ! I must control myself ! I must 
 recall it all ! I must know — horrible ! horrible ! 
 Am I going mad ? I tremble ! I faint ! (Sinks 
 down in seat.) What is this? Why is my heart 
 like ice ? I know nothing ! He — I — fool ! 
 (Rises.) Why did I drink wine? Why let the 
 accursed draught make of me a slave? It has 
 linked me with the beasts of earth ! And I a 
 mother ! God ! God ! How fallen ! how fallen ! 
 Was it, indeed, I? No! no! I am innocent! 
 
 103 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 I have done no wrong! Let him answer! That 
 man — foul, deceitful, unmanly being ! Let him 
 be scourged by remorse that shall cling to him 
 until his dying hour ! Where is he ? What is 
 he doing now ? Is he here ? Is he coming ? How 
 did I reach home? Did he come with me? 
 Where was Dorothy — and our friends? All is 
 blank ! Were we alone — he and I — there — in that 
 place? Were we — ah, yes! yes! It all breaks 
 upon me ! Yes, he sat next me while we drank ! 
 He filled my glass ! I drank ! He filled again ! 
 Then he sang ! I drank and grew dizzy ! My 
 head reeled ! My brain throbbed ! I was stagger- 
 ing! That little room! Yes! I entered — sank 
 down — lost consciousness ! Ah ! the awakening ! 
 Something seemed to fill the very air ! Appalled, 
 I shrank within myself! He it was! He stood 
 glowering! I sought to rouse myself — to fight 
 away this horrible apparition — to overcome the 
 spell of his presence ! Impossible ! Exhausted by 
 the effort, I drooped limply — I was powerless ! For 
 a moment he was gone ! Through the dense mist I 
 saw him again ! He floated here and there ! 
 Suddenly he towered before me ! I felt my doom ! 
 He touched me ! His embrace, like ten thousand 
 electric shocks, roused my every fiber! His eyes, 
 luminous with passion, blazed into my soul ! His 
 
 104 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 lips, reeking as of nectar, drank of mine ! His 
 hot breath seared my bosom! Helpless in his 
 strong, sensuous clasp, I yet struggled against 
 him ! Alas ! without avail ! His kisses, like mol- 
 ten lava devouring the earth, consumed me! I 
 was his slave — his slave ! What else ? What else ? 
 Heavenly Father, what else ? Ah ! It was not I ! 
 It was not I ! A fearful fantasy fills my brain ! 
 I am not myself! (Sinks down and weeps.) 
 
 (A knock is heard. She opens door and Dela- 
 mere enters. He affects not to notice her dis- 
 tress.) 
 
 Delamere : I thought you would be expecting 
 me after our tete-a-tete of last night — or rather 
 this morning. 
 
 Adelaide : That is why you came ? 
 
 Delamere : Exactly. 
 
 Adelaide: Then it were better you had re- 
 mained away. I did not wish to see you. 
 
 Delamere: This is a strange — an unkind 
 greeting, Adelaide. 
 
 Adelaide : Do you deserve better ? 
 
 Delamere : Yes. I came to talk over matters 
 in relation to your future happiness. 
 
 Adelaide (scornfully) : You are doubtless 
 very much concerned about my future happiness ! 
 
 105 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 .Delamere: More than you think or are will- 
 ing to give me credit for. 
 
 Adelaide : Oh, yes ! I know I do a great 
 wrong to question the motives of so noble a man ! 
 You are one of those who 
 
 Delamere: Come, come, Adelaide, this is 
 folly ! What's done can't be undone. Let us look 
 at this matter calmly. Let us be frank with each 
 other. You know the meaning of marriage. So 
 do I. You had an unloving husband; I an un- 
 loving wife. Why should their loss remain un- 
 supplied? We shall find in each other 
 
 Adelaide: Hush, sir! These things to you 
 are commonplaces. As a worn-out glove is cast 
 aside, so husbands and wives are by you put away 
 to please every fleeting caprice. Have you no re- 
 gard for the sanctity of the marriage bond ? But 
 why do I ask? Your words — your actions have 
 already answered in trumpet tones that you care 
 naught for the laws of God nor man ! 
 
 Delamere : What avails recrimination ? Noth- 
 ing is gained. You understand me. I desire your 
 love 
 
 Adelaide: Not another word! Oh, how I 
 have been deceived in you ! 
 
 Delamere : How beautiful you look this morn- 
 ing, Adelaide ! More charming than ever ! ( Goes 
 
 106 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 close to her, then suddenly clasps her around the 
 waist.) 
 
 Adelaide (struggling): Kelease me, sir! 
 (He releases her.) At last you stand unmasked! 
 You are willing that I should know you in your 
 proper guise — an unbridled libertine ! 
 
 Delamere: A harsh word, Adelaide, and un- 
 just ! My treatment of you does not warrant its 
 use. Did I not really love you 
 
 Adelaide : Love ! Heavens ! Love ! 
 
 Delamere : Yes, love ! Honorable love ! 
 
 Adelaide : Honorable ! 
 
 Delamere : I repeat — honorable love ! Scorned 
 as I am at this very minute, I tell you there is 
 no one in this world I care for but you. I sought 
 your love honorably. I was repulsed. Let us go 
 back to the days when you lived with your hus- 
 band. Was I not within your house days and 
 weeks at a time? Did I in word, deed, or look 
 once overstep severest propriety ? I challenge you 
 to bring a single charge against my conduct ! (A 
 pause.) You do not answer. My words are true. 
 I loved you then. I love you now. 
 
 Adelaide : Heavens ! Talk no more of love ! 
 You insult life's holiest sentiment ! Men like you 
 are beyond the pale of exalted passion ! To you 
 it does not exist ! To degrade — to brutify — to 
 
 107 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 drag all to your own level of wickedness — such is 
 your aim — such your delight ! 
 
 Delamere: Listen to me, Adelaide — listen a 
 moment longer — and then finally judge me. Un- 
 aware of the real strength of my regard for you, 
 I left you with Frank four months ago. In this 
 house we met accidentally. You told me of your 
 estrangement. I learned that on both sides it was 
 considered final. Then for the first time I real- 
 ized how dear you were to me. Not till then had 
 I dared hope. Not till then did I dare to dwell 
 upon the bliss that might be mine. I did not for- 
 get that you had always admired my work — my 
 voice — my playing. You had encouraged me — at 
 times had even taken my part against your hus- 
 band. Was this not enough to give me hope? 
 Gazing upon those rare perfections that are yours 
 alone, and knowing you to be free, the pent-up 
 fires of an unextinguishable passion broke through 
 all restraints. I proffered you my love. You saw 
 fit to reject it. But my longings were increased. 
 I determined to possess you at all hazards. 
 
 Adelaide : A noble resolve, truly ! 
 
 Delamere: Condemn me if you will. I am 
 not to blame. Did you but know the mighty 
 power you wield over my heart — did you but know 
 the sleepless nights — the hauntings of my waking 
 
 108 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 hours — the hopes — the fears — the dread — the ec- 
 stasy — with you and you always the central fig- 
 ure! Did you but know — yes! I say it — this 
 frenzy — it is more than love ! — this frenzy is the 
 fruit of your dazzling charms! You have made 
 a madman of me ! 
 
 Adelaide: A specious plea, to gloss over vile 
 iniquity ! The common defense of every man 
 whose passions are sole master of his being! A 
 million advocates of your example cannot alter the 
 clear fact that your actions have shown you to be 
 utterly devoid of all truth, principle, and honor! 
 
 Delamere: I am willing that you should re- 
 proach me, but that is no reason why you should 
 be unjust. You believe that a man who loves in- 
 tensely — madly should at a mere word give up his 
 hopes, relinquish thoughts of happiness, and for- 
 get her who is the one bright star of his existence. 
 He is, indeed, contemptible who, loving thus, calm- 
 ly accepts his answer and departs. She who is 
 worth winning is worth fighting for. 
 
 Adelaide: Men — true men — who love will 
 sacrifice much — nay, everything, for the women of 
 their regard. Others, again, who utter loudest 
 their honeyed phrases can, without a qualm, blast 
 a woman's life and bring her untold misery ! 
 
 Delamere; Misery need not be yours, Ade- 
 
 109 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 laide. I stand ready to do everything in my power 
 to make life bright for you. You do not intend to 
 go back to your husband. Once again I ask you 
 to come with me. Accept 
 
 Adelaide : You shall not speak of that ! I 
 have heard enough — too much ! I have wronged 
 myself to give ear to any of your words ! Yet I 
 now know you ! There can be no mistake ! You 
 have confessed yourself ! You have taught me 
 what to expect ! I will be frank, too ! I know 
 not how to turn ! You are the cause ! I am not 
 what I was yesterday, but you shall not drag me 
 to a lower level ! To you I am indebted for a dis- 
 tress of mind that benumbs my faculties — chills 
 my being ! It is your work ! Gloat over it ! 
 Now go ! Let me not see your face again ! 
 
 Delamere : I go at your command. But per- 
 mit me a final word. Through you I am now 
 wealthy. The mine is paying far beyond my most 
 sanguine expectations. Your generosity has made 
 everything possible. First, I desire to say that 
 you may draw upon me at any time for the two 
 thousand dollars advanced. You may need more. 
 Do not restrict yourself. I can stand any drain — 
 from you. It is my intention to found an Ameri- 
 can salon — the home of art — where shall flourish 
 
 110 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL, 
 
 in their highest excellence those arts of which we 
 both are votaries and others that refine and ele- 
 vate the mind. It is a grand conception. Its 
 realization is near. Yet all is incomplete until a 
 living Venns shall adorn this domain of art and 
 beauty and lend her scintillant charm to its sur- 
 roundings. You, Adelaide, shall be the Venus to 
 preside over all — queen of love and empress of my 
 heart. 
 
 Adelaide : Heavens ! No more ! Go now — 
 go — go at once ! (He draws near to her as if 
 about to speak.) Leave me to myself! Have 
 pity ! I must not talk now ! I cannot ! I know 
 not what I would say ! Give me time for thought ! 
 You are a man ! Do not further tempt me ! Be 
 noble — for once ! Leave me, I implore you ! Ee- 
 turn, if you will, later — perhaps I can talk then 
 calmly ! But no more ! no more now ! 
 
 Delamere: I respect your wishes. Adieu — 
 for an hour. (Exits.) 
 
 (Adelaide sinks to the floor, her head resting 
 in an arm-chair.) 
 
 Adelaide : My God ! My God ! What shall 
 I do ? My poor child ! My poor child ! 
 
 end of scene 1. 
 
 Ill 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Scene 2. Parlors, Hotel Glenalvon. Same as 
 Act I. 
 
 Enter Widdeston. 
 
 Widdeston {executing a step): Zounds! I 
 feel as chipper as a two-year-old ! and just turned 
 forty ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! How gracefully the old 
 lady took the news ! I was half prepared to beat 
 a retreat when she looked at me! But Pearl — 
 bless her sweet soul ! — was so pleadingly meek and 
 lovely that her mother capitulated on the spot ! 
 And the Count — ? pon my word, I feel sorry for 
 him! From what Pearl — Pearl (lovingly) says, 
 he is quite heart-broken ! It was certainly a case 
 of misplaced confidence on his part ! Oh, sweet 
 Columbia! how cordial are our relations! Great 
 Britain and America! Another tie that binds! 
 Te-te-ti-ti-tum-tum ! (Dances.) 
 
 Enter Seabury. 
 
 Seabury : Hello, Widdeston ! You seem hila- 
 rious ! 
 
 Widdeston: Hilarious! Why, my dear boy, 
 I am luxuriating in the Garden of Eden! Ely- 
 sium is within my grasp! (Clasps Seabury and 
 whirls him round several times.) 
 
 112 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Seabury {puffing) : Well ! That is the first 
 time the appellation of Elysium was ever applied 
 to Thaddeus Seabury. Evidently something of 
 surpassing, if not abnormal, importance is re- 
 sponsible for your extraordinary demeanor. Your 
 characteristics, sir, are stability, sobriety, and 
 solidity. A peculiar — an inexplainable trans- 
 mogrification has taken place. What, sir, is the 
 predisposing cause of this remarkable ebullition 
 of jocularity? 
 
 Widdeston: It is a secret, but (Whispers 
 
 in Seabury's ear.) 
 
 Seabury : What ! Connubial predilections ! 
 Ah ! You have discovered, have you, that not the 
 least of this country's attractions is its unap- 
 proachable femininity ! You, sir, have exhibited a 
 keen appreciation of the best among our natural 
 productions. I congratulate you. Ah, what ap- 
 peals with similar force — with mightier mo- 
 mentum—with grander gratification to the im- 
 mortal instincts of man than reciprocity of affec- 
 tion? Search the world from pole to pole and 
 you find nothing! Again I congratulate you! 
 May this matrimonial alliance conduce in every 
 regard to your unmitigated bliss! I suggest an 
 adjournment to where we can at once submerge 
 
 lid 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 the interior man and continue our dissertation 
 upon this interesting subject! (Exit both.) 
 
 Enter Count and Mrs. Hartley. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley: I am indeed sorry, Count, 
 that you leave us. There has been no fault with 
 the service? 
 
 Count : No ! no ! It is excellent — your me- 
 nage, your cuisine, your maison — bien! everything ! 
 It is not that ! I thank you, madame, for your at- 
 tention. I could wish nothing more — yes ! one. 
 Pardon, madame — I speak at random ! 
 
 Mrs. Hartley: Your society has honored us, 
 Count. We shall regret to lose it. 
 
 Count: And I yours. It has been a pleasant 
 stay but for one thing — that is past! My bag- 
 gage I will have prepared 
 
 Enter Dorothy. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley: Miss Dorothy, the Count is 
 ready to go. 
 
 Dorothy: Eeady to go! Where? 
 
 Mrs. Hartley : He returns to France at once. 
 
 Dorothy : It can't be possible ! Do you mean 
 it, Count ? Such a short stay ! Not two months, 
 
 114 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 I'm sure! Why, you haven't remained long 
 enough to explore Eichmond Borough, let alone 
 big old New York ! 
 
 Count: You have a great city. I have seen 
 much of it. I am French. It is difficult for a 
 foreigner who comes on a visit to obtain real bene- 
 fit from his contact with your people. Your social 
 customs and life are so different; he must stay 
 and study if he expects to know you thoroughly. 
 That I cannot do. Then I long again for my 
 Paris. There only am I at home. 
 
 Dorothy: You find too, Count, don't you, 
 that Americans are unappreciative — that they 
 seem to be so much taken up with themselves that 
 they pay little attention to the high qualities of 
 foreign visitors who honor this country by their 
 presence ? 
 
 Count: It is true of some of them. Mrs. 
 Hartley, can you now oblige 
 
 Mrs. Hartley: Certainly, Count. (Mrs. 
 Hartley courtesies and precedes the Count out.) 
 
 Dorothy: Got the' mitten! Ha! ha! ha! 
 Why didn't he say so instead of beating around the 
 bush in such an idiotic fashion ? Oh, no ! He 
 couldn't feel at home anywhere but in gay Paree ! 
 Our customs and life, too, are so different ! It's 
 too bad ! Poor Count ! His lacerated heart 
 
 115 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 needs the balm of rest and a change of air. 
 Hoity-toity ! His wounds will not take long to 
 heal. The vision of another American heiress is 
 the real panacea for his poor bruised anatomy. 
 Like the rest of them, he will reap consolation in 
 the thought that some day a flock of glittering, 
 gleaming American eagles will wing their way in 
 his direction. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What 
 would the poor world do without these dainty 
 darlings of nobility ! Well, I'm sure they are 
 good for one thing — they add to the gayety of 
 nations. At least, I can speak for the American 
 nation, or a part of it that happens to be in this 
 room. Ha! ha! ha! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
 
 Enter Delamere. 
 
 Dorothy: Don't mind me, Mr. Delamere. I 
 am troubled with these little spells occasionally. 
 Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
 
 Delamere: You are selfish, Miss Dorothy. 
 Why may I not share your jollity with you? 
 
 Dorothy: We lose a guest to-day. 
 
 Delamere: If that is your idea of a joke, I 
 would suggest you mention it to Mrs. Hartley. I 
 fancy she would see it in a different light. 
 
 Dorothy : Oh, but you don't know ! Think of 
 
 116 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 a wooer traveling several thousand miles across 
 the briny deep, as the song-books say, only to get 
 the mitten! And what made matters still worse 
 for him, he was certain of his conquest in advance ! 
 He came, he saw, he fled away ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Delamere : I presume you allude to the Count. 
 Has he really been rejected? 
 
 Dorothy : Well, he's going to-day — now — this 
 very instant ! Pearl doesn't go with him. It looks 
 rather like a rejection. 
 
 Delamere: I am surprised. I thought the 
 match as good as made. Mrs. Westholme seemed 
 to have her heart set upon it. 
 
 Dorothy: Everybody in New York saw that. 
 Her efforts were visible to all but the blind. Thank 
 goodness ! Pearl showed herself a girl with a 
 mind of her own. Not the namby-pamby creature 
 that says "yes, mamma," to every notion of her 
 mother's. The Count was a harmless, inoffensive 
 person. I had no particular objection to him, 
 only I am a believer in home industries. If there 
 is to be a marriage industry, I want to see our good 
 American boys reaping the benefits. Those are 
 my sentiments. I wish I had the opportunity to 
 say "no" to a score or two of titled upstarts. 
 
 Delamere : You are entirely too radical, Miss 
 Dorothy. A title may be borne by a good man, 
 
 117 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 who at the same time has a fervent regard for an 
 American woman. Would you oppose such a mar- 
 riage ? 
 
 Dorothy: I was not speaking of the rare ex- 
 ceptions ! Gracious ! I must see Adelaide ! Will 
 you be at the theater to-night? 
 
 Delamere: That depends. 
 
 Dorothy: Do come. I want your criticism. 
 Something did not run well last night, I thought. 
 
 Delamere: I won't promise. If possible I 
 will come. 
 
 Dorothy: Thanks. (Exit.) 
 
 Delamere : She has gone to Adelaide. So will 
 I go to Adelaide when your errand's done, Miss 
 Dorothy! (Looks at watch.) How the time 
 drags ! I said an hour ! I was foolish ! I gave 
 her too much time ! Strike while the iron is hot — 
 the only course in matters of the heart ! Delays 
 are dangerous ! Why do I doubt ? She is mine ! 
 Can she turn back now ? How can she retrace her 
 steps ? Whither can she go but where I lead her ? 
 Whither turn but to my arms? What do but my 
 bidding? How beautiful she looked this morning 
 with her hair awry, her face so sad and dreamy, 
 the crystal teardrops glistening in her divine eyes ! 
 I could scarce contain myself as I gazed upon her ! 
 Let me see — a trip abroad first. When we return, 
 
 118 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 a plunge into society. Then, my American salon 
 shall engage our attention. A house here. An- 
 other in Paris. The elite of the world shall sit 
 at our table ! All is within reach ! She alone re- 
 mains to crown my highest desires ! Yet — yet — 
 till I possess her completely— till she surrenders 
 herself to me body and soul — my mind will not 
 be free from doubt ! I must to her ! At once to 
 know her answer ! (Exit.) 
 
 Enter Dorothy and Von Guttenberg. 
 
 Dorothy : The wretch ! He has treated Ade- 
 laide shamefully! 
 
 Von Guttenberg: I always did think that 
 Delamere was a mean man. 
 
 Dorothy: Yes, and Adelaide had such faith 
 in his friendship. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: And that good, kind man 
 — he away went 
 
 Dorothy: What are you talking about? 
 
 Von Guttenberg : Ah, Miss Dorothy, I prom- 
 ised you to tell not. Mr. Milward was here. I to 
 him wrote. When I thought of the little child I 
 sure could no longer sleep. My heart like lead was 
 always. I could not rest while such fine people 
 with a lovely child did live apart. So he did come. 
 He his wife loves. 
 
 119 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Dorothy: Now let me give you a bit of ad- 
 vice. Never try to patch, up domestic quarrels. 
 You will have only your trouble for your pains — 
 and get yourself disliked at the same time. Ade- 
 laide will never go back to her husband. 
 
 Von Guttenberg : If I could something do 
 
 Dorothy: Don't be foolish, baron. Let other 
 people manage their own affairs. I know Ade- 
 laide. You can do nothing. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Then I will my eye keep 
 on that Delamere. When he 
 
 Enter Delamere. He does not observe Dor- 
 othy and Von Guttenberg. 
 
 Delamere : Furies ! Disappointment upon 
 disappointment ! Knocked — got no answer. Went 
 back again — same result. Is she playing with 
 
 me? Can it be possible (Turns and sees 
 
 Dorothy and Von Guttenberg.) Ah, excuse 
 
 me! I trust I (They turn their backs upon 
 
 him. He walks away. Aside:) Oho! Aha! So 
 Adelaide has told of our little interview! The 
 ban is upon me! We shall see! We shall see! 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Dorothy: He will be back again. Let us go. 
 (Both exit.) 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Widdeston and Bagsby. 
 
 Widdeston: Since you missed Milward, we 
 must do what we can without the information ex- 
 pected from him. Delamere is here. I saw him 
 five minutes ago. This matter must be probed to 
 the bottom without delay. As a precaution, have 
 an officer ready. He may be innocent, but his 
 actions look strangely like guilt. He is a man of 
 mystery, whatever be his connection with the 
 Earl's death. To-day I solve him. See about the 
 officer at once, Bagsby. 
 
 (As Bagsby turns to go Delamere enters. He 
 pauses, loohs intently at Bagsby, then comes 
 down as Bagsby exits.) 
 
 Delamere: Fine day, Mr. Widdeston! 
 
 Widdeston : Very. 
 
 Delamere: What equals the bracing air of a 
 crisp October morning? It is the true tonic for 
 the lazy blood, a discounter of nostrums, and a 
 death-knell of disease ! 
 
 Widdeston: I agree with you. To me, how- 
 ever, the freshness is too sharp. The English cli- 
 mate to which I am accustomed, while more humid 
 than yours, is yet milder. I like it better. Use 
 
 121 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 breeds such a habit in a man, as our great poet 
 says, that even upon a day like this I long for the 
 mugginess of Old England. You have never vis- 
 ited my country ? 
 
 Delamere: I — oh, yes. That is, not in many 
 years. I dimly recall a visit once made with my 
 father. I was very young. 
 
 Widdeston : Did you travel ? 
 
 Delamere: No. As I remember, business 
 called him to London. We remained there. 
 
 Widdeston : You did not go to Staffordshire ? 
 
 Delamere (starting visibly) : Staffordshire ! 
 
 Widdeston : You know something of the coun- 
 try? 
 
 Delamere : My youthful exercises on the map 
 of England have left an impression, though it 
 may be slight. 
 
 Widdeston: I see. Geography was, perhaps, 
 not your forte. Some day I will tell you a tale of 
 Staffordshire. By the way, you recall our conver- 
 sation of yesterday regarding the Earl Charles 
 mine? 
 
 Delamere : Perfectly. 
 
 Widdeston : I stated my desire to invest some 
 capital, particularly because the mine was named 
 after an Englishman. I confess I am interested 
 in learning how or why the title was selected. 
 
 122 
 
AJ\ AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Delamere: You cannot learn it from me. 
 
 Widdeston : Why ? 
 
 Delamere: Have I not already told you that 
 I am unacquainted with the circumstances ? 
 
 Widdeston: Very true. But it does not ex- 
 plain your previous contradiction. 
 
 Delamere : Previous contradiction ! What do 
 you mean? 
 
 Widdeston: You never said that you had 
 named this mine? 
 
 Delamere : Never ! What are you driving at, 
 anyway ? 
 
 Widdeston: You shall see presently. Tell 
 me, did you not for secret reasons — reasons that 
 might prove inconvenient to you should they be 
 known — name this mine yourself ? 
 
 Delamere: Look you, sir! You are imperti- 
 nent ! What matters it to you how the mine was 
 named ? 
 
 Widdeston : Possibly a great deal. Why have 
 you taken such pains to conceal 
 
 Delamere: I decline to discuss the matter 
 further. 
 
 Widdeston: Will you answer one question? 
 
 Delamere: It is my personal affair. I refuse 
 to satisfy the petty inquisitiveness of an entire 
 stranger. 
 
 123 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Widdeston : Then I shall compel you ! I ask 
 you again 
 
 Delamere: And I say again that I will not 
 submit to your insolent catechising! (Turns to 
 go, but Widdeston places himself in the way.) 
 
 Widdeston : Did you not kill the Earl Charles 
 of Kenmore? 
 
 Delamere : Ha ! ha ! ha ! No ! fool ! Let me 
 pass! 
 
 Widdeston: Not till you have explained his 
 death ! You 
 
 Delamere : Beware, sir ! You may go too far ! 
 
 Widdeston : Ho, Bagsby ! 
 
 Enter Bagsby, 
 
 Bagsby, is that the man you met in Arizona? 
 (Bagsby nods.) Is he the man who told you the 
 Earl Charles was killed in an accident? (Bagsby 
 nods again.) Is he the man who said he had 
 named the mine in memory of a friend? (Bagsby 
 nods.) Is he the man who said the Earl is dead, 
 but his name lives? (Bagsby nods.) Now, sir, 
 you were his friend. You have evaded my inqui- 
 ries. Your actions bespeak a guilty conscience. 
 The Earl Charles is dead — dead by your hand. 
 Explain your part in this transaction or answer to 
 
 124 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL, 
 
 the law for the murder of the Earl Charles. 
 Bagsby, call the officer ! 
 
 Delamere : Hold ! Who are you ? What gives 
 you right to delve into the grave of the past and 
 fling forth the clanking bones? Why seek you to 
 lift from oblivion a life that should be lost for 
 evermore? W T hy revive a memory in whose un- 
 f athomed depths lay the secret of life and death ? 
 
 Widdeston : By a right — by a power delegated 
 from him who called the Earl Charles son I pur- 
 sue this quest. 
 
 Delamere : What ! "Him who called the Earl 
 Charles son!" My 
 
 Widdeston : The Duke of Kenmore ! 
 
 Enter John Ellison. He walks to Delamere 
 and lays hand on his shoulder, at the same time 
 revealing a weapon. 
 
 Ellison: George Stanley, I give you one 
 chance for your life ! 
 
 Delamere : Name it ! 
 
 Ellison : Marry my sister ! 
 
 Delamere: I accept it ! I am ready ! (Turns 
 to go.) 
 
 Ellison: Stay! They will be here! 
 
 125 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ellison, May, and Clergyman. 
 
 Let the ceremony proceed! 
 
 (As the Clergyman makes ready Widdeston 
 interposes.) 
 
 Widdeston : Hold ! You know not what you 
 do ! Upon that man's head rests the shadow of 
 a greater crime than you know aught of ! Let not 
 double misery be hers! To Heaven let him an- 
 swer for his crime against virtue, to the law for 
 the murder of the Earl Charles of Kenmore ! 
 
 All : Murder ! 
 
 Enter Officer. 
 
 Widdeston : There stands your man, officer ! 
 
 Delamere: Stand back! The Earl Charles 
 lives ! I swear it ! 
 
 Widdeston : Lives ? 
 
 Delamere : Ay, lives ! He is here now — in 
 this very room ! You look upon him ! I am he ! 
 
 Widdeston: You — the Earl Charles! Never! 
 A mere trick, officer ! Take him away ! 
 
 (The Officer approaches Delamere.) 
 
 126 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Ellison" : What ! Escape me ! No ! Not for 
 ten thousand murders ! Die ! devil ! (Fires and 
 Delamere falls.) 
 
 (Widdeston rushes to Delamere's side and 
 supports his head.) 
 
 Enter Dorothy, Mrs. Hartley, Von Gutten- 
 berg, followed by Seabury. 
 
 Delamere: I am done for. Here. (Takes 
 papers from inside pocket of coat and hands to 
 Widdeston.) These deeds belong to Milward, 
 
 my friend ! I — wronged — him ! Tell him 
 
 (Groans, turns feebly to Widdeston, and tries to 
 speak.) 
 
 Widdeston: He is dying! (A pause.) 
 
 (By a final effort Delamere takes another 
 paper from pocket and hands to Widdeston.) 
 
 Delamere : That letter — give — oh — tell — 
 Duke — father — forgive — oh ! (Raises himself 
 spasmodically, tears open his shirt.) See ! I — I 
 am — Earl Charles! (Dies.) 
 
 Widdeston (recognizing the Earl's birth- 
 mark) : My God ! It is — it is the Earl Charles ! 
 
 CUETAIN. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 127 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Six months are supposed to elapse between Acts 
 IV. and V. 
 
 Scene 1. Residence of Milward, Se. Time, 
 April. Typical Southern country home, with 
 large veranda, trailing vines, and -flowers. 
 House to left. Summer-house at front of 
 stage. Rustic bench at side of summer-house, 
 concealed from back of stage by foliage. Bench 
 at back. Tennessee River in distance. 
 
 Enter Von Guttenberg, Adelaide lingering be- 
 hind. 
 
 Von" Guttenberg {looking around) : How- 
 quiet ! No one here, it seems. Let us sit awhile 
 and wait. (She sits weakly on rustic bench.) Are 
 you not well, Mrs. — Mrs. Milward? 
 
 Adelaide (rising): I cannot bear this! Let 
 me return, I entreat you! How can I face him? 
 He will spurn me ! Oh, I must go ! There is no 
 hope! I cannot — cannot stay! 
 
 128 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Von Guttenberg : Listen again to me. What 
 would you do? Be not rash. All shall be well. 
 Be brave, dear lady, and have patience. 
 
 Adelaide: Oh, you are so kind. I am dis- 
 tracted! I know not what I do! Forgive me, 
 dear friend. I have given you so much trouble. 
 Never — never can I repay you. But listen! He 
 will upbraid me. I know it. He will say — no! 
 no ! — the thought is too terrible ! Oh ! I must — I 
 must go ! 
 
 (He seeks to detain her.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Dear, dear madam, stay! 
 You are now here. In a little while all will be 
 over. You will be happy — you and your husband 
 and your lovely child. Ah ! remember your child ! 
 
 Adelaide: My child! God sustain me! My 
 child ! Yes — yes ! For her sake I will endure the 
 ordeal! The thought of her shall give me 
 strength! Let him turn from me, heap coals of 
 fire upon my head, tear my heart — anything — only 
 that I may see my child again, that I may clasp 
 her to my hungry mother's breast, that I may 
 hear her sweet lips murmur "mother" once again ! 
 Then let me die ! I am resigned ! 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Never fear, dear madam. 
 All shall yet be well. Something here (touching 
 his breast) tells me I am right. Your husband is 
 
 129 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 a noble gentleman. Yon shall hear him say how 
 sorry he is that yon are not by his side. When he 
 comes I will talk here to him. In the summer- 
 house you can stay and listen. 
 
 Adelaide: Kind, kind friend! You give me 
 such sweet hope — such courage. Yes, I will stay — 
 will do as you direct. I can at least show how 
 much I value the devotion you have so nobly ex- 
 tended. May Heaven bless you ! 
 
 Von Guttenberg: S-h-h! (Looking off.) 
 Some one approaches in the distance. It is — yes, 
 it is Mr. Milward ! Ah ! There is the little girl ! 
 They are coming ! Quick ! Go into the summer- 
 house ! 
 
 Adelaide: Blinded forever be my sight if my 
 child greets not mine eyes before all else ! Let me 
 look on her ! I care not what comes after — dis- 
 grace, despair, death even, it matters not ! (Von 
 Guttenberg stands hack.) Yes ! it is my precious 
 darling ! Ah ! so lovely, so innocent ! How sweet 
 she looks ! How light her step ! How blithe her 
 prattle ! See ! She stoops to pluck a flower ! How 
 deftly and daintily the little fingers touch the deli- 
 cate thing ! Now she fondles it ! She shows it to 
 him ! Smiling in his face, she makes him stoop as 
 she fastens it in his coat ! Now — now her arms 
 are around his neck! He kisses her! Laughing 
 
 130 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 gleefully, she runs ahead and beckons to him ! He 
 smiles, but he is pale! He — enough! enough! 
 He has been good to her — to me ! Husband, from 
 my soul I thank thee ! Now sear my heart, man ! 
 I am ready! (Enters summer-house.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: My whole fortune would 
 I give to be assured he will not refuse her! 
 She is very sad, poor lady ! If he is cruel she will 
 kill herself ! Of that I know. If he shall say no 
 to me she will hear him — she will throw herself 
 off there! (Pointing.) Ach! he must take her 
 back ! I will on my knees go to him ! I will 
 swear! I will prove to him that she is good and 
 pure ! I — ah ! here he is ! 
 
 (Stands bach.) 
 
 Enter Frank Milward and Violet. They come 
 
 forward. 
 
 Violet : See, dear papa, what a beautiful nose- 
 gay ! Look, papa ! That's a cowslip, that's a 
 touch-me-not, that's a blueflag, that's a colum- 
 bine, that's a jessamine, that's a lily of the valley, 
 that's a pink, that's a — that's a — what is this one, 
 papa? 
 
 Milward: Don't you remember? 
 
 Violet : Let me see ? Oh, yes, now I know — a 
 japonica! 
 
 131 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Milward: Correct, my little girl. The flow- 
 ers are far more varied here than in the North- 
 But you will soon learn them all. 
 
 Violet: Why, papa, you have lost your blue- 
 bell ! Let me fasten another in your coat. There ! 
 
 (He sits on bench near summer-house and takes 
 her on his knee.) 
 
 Violet: Papa, are we going to stay here for- 
 ever, where the pretty birds always sing and the 
 flowers grow so sweet ? 
 
 Milward: I trust so, darling. 
 
 Violet : I am so glad ! It is not nice in the 
 North, is it, papa? We never went in the woods 
 there to pluck wild flowers and hunt for ferns. 
 Oh! (Clapping her hands.) The woods and 
 meadows here are just full of them ! Everything 
 is so beautiful — so beautiful ! 
 
 Milward: It is lovely, indeed. At this sea- 
 son, darling, Nature is at her best in our glorious 
 Southern country. 
 
 Violet: Why cannot mamma come and enjoy 
 it all with us ? How happy we would be ! 
 
 Milward: Yes — yes! Look, dearest, look at 
 the pretty goldfinch carrying food to its little 
 ones. 
 
 132 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (She gets off his knee and runs to center of 
 stage.) 
 
 Violet: Oh, the dear, sweet things! Aren't 
 they cute? See them open their little yellow 
 mouths ! How good the mamma bird is ! What 
 if she went away a long, long time and nobody 
 cared for them? 
 
 Milward: They would soon die, darling, if 
 
 they were neglected. 
 
 Violet : Yes, they would die— they would die. 
 How sad! (Wiping her eyes.) Little girls die 
 sometimes because their mammas stay away, don't 
 they, papa? 
 
 Milward: That is true, darling. But papa 
 will take good care of his little girl. His con- 
 stant prayer is for her health and happiness. Now, 
 dear, run in. Find grandpa and grandma and 
 say I am here in the garden. Old Deborah is 
 looking for you, too, I guess. 
 
 Violet : Isn't she a dear old soul ? But, my ! 
 how black ! Why, papa, she is so black she looks 
 just like that big spot I made when I overturned 
 the ink-bottle yesterday. It spoiled my pretty 
 frock, too. Wasn't it dreadful? 
 
 Milward: Don't worry about the ink-spot, 
 dear. The accident could not be helped. 
 
 133 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 Violet : I love you, dear papa ! 
 
 (He kisses her and rises. Violet exits into 
 house. Milward walks to C. and catches sight of 
 Von Guttenberg.) 
 
 Milward: My dear friend Von Guttenberg! 
 (They shake hands.) 'Pon my word, the most 
 agreeable surprise of my life ! I am delighted ! 
 How did you manage to find your way? You are 
 indeed welcome ! Come, have a seat here, where 
 the breeze is cool, the shade heavy, and the view 
 clear, and tell me all about yourself. 
 
 (They walk toward tench at hack.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Thank you. But first I 
 will look at the view. 
 
 Milward : Is that not a beautiful panorama ? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Very fine indeed. I have 
 in Germany seen something like, yet not so pretty. 
 The air is sweet and pure. 
 
 Milward : I hope you will stay and breathe it 
 to your heart's content. You are very welcome. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Yes, that I know. I have 
 already learned of your fine Southern courtesy. 
 
 134 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 On the train, at the station, driving to yonr home 
 — everywhere it has been shown. 
 
 Milward: It pleases me greatly to hear you 
 say so. Stay, and I can promise yon some rare 
 pleasure. Boating, bathing, fishing, gunning, and 
 periodic social reunions — those are the diversions 
 that add zest to life here in our country home. 
 There, within a stone's throw, is the boat-house — 
 a skiff or yawl always at your service. Yonder, 
 near the river bend, where the pebbly beach gleams 
 white in the sun, where the water seems more 
 pure — there we bathe. Further up the river is a 
 flat basin that abounds in fish. When in the mood 
 you may test your luck with the reel and line. The 
 spot is ideal. Expert or novice may have equal 
 success in tempting the finny tribe. Those dense 
 woods to the left, some three miles off, are a veri- 
 table Elysium for the enthusiastic sportsman. 
 Then our social jubilees, in which our neighbors 
 mingle, will afford pleasing relaxation of a differ- 
 ent character. You will meet — but of that later. 
 Here the ceaseless grind of industrial effort does 
 not, as in the North, make slaves of us. There, save 
 for brief summer-time vacations, the surge of keen 
 competition destroys thought of things divine and 
 leaves sordidness alone to rule the heart. Here we 
 have time for interchange of those common obliga- 
 
 135 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 tions due to one another as members of God's 
 great family. Thus in communion with our 
 Maker, with Nature, and our friends we spend our 
 days. God is always here. Not alone on the Sab- 
 bath do we sing praises to His glory, but each day 
 with Him we rise and in His arms at night we 
 rest. Is it not a glorious life? Shall you not 
 share its sweetness with us, at least, for a time ? 
 
 (They seat themselves on bench.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Ah, I thank you — I thank 
 you, Mr. Mil ward. I — I am expecting news from 
 home. I cannot yet say. But when all shall be 
 favorable it will give me the greatest pleasure to 
 remain awhile with you in your charming home. 
 
 Milward: Very well, my dear friend. Suit 
 your own convenience. I will not ask you just 
 now to commit yourself to my programme for your 
 entertainment. But you are here now, and I pro- 
 pose to make the most of your visit. Tell me, 
 how came you to seek me out? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: I will be honest with you, 
 Mr. Milward. I — I thought maybe you would like 
 to hear about — about your wife. 
 
 Milward : My wife ! (Rises and walks about 
 nervously.) 
 
 136 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (Adelaide appears at door of summer-house, 
 pale and trembling with suppressed emotion. 
 Later retires off.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: Yes. You have heard all 
 about the tragedy in the hotel? 
 
 Milward : The papers were full of it the next 
 morning. That was the day I left for the South. 
 It was terrible ! Thank God ! my name and that 
 of Mrs. Lester appeared only casually in connec- 
 tion with the unfortunate affair. I left Albany 
 just in time to escape an onslaught in force by the 
 reportorial fraternity. Had not my decision been 
 already made to go South, I would have been 
 driven to it by the importunities of newsgather- 
 ers seeking to make a scoop. Where was she — I 
 mean my wife — when the killing occurred ? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: I — I do not know. For 
 two days after I did not see her. She, I believe, 
 was ill. Oh, that Delamere — he was a strange 
 man! To be the Earl Charles of Kenmore, and 
 nobody to know it till he lay dying ! 
 
 Milward (sits on bench near summer-house) : 
 I knew his history. The knowledge had much to 
 do with my strong friendship for the man. His 
 grand sacrifice for another appealed to me as noth- 
 ing had ever done before. From the day I met 
 
 137 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 him we were fast friends. Young, bright, ambi- 
 tious, brave, he was full of the fires of a peculiar 
 genius that inspired and fascinated me. Orestes 
 and Pylades were not dearer to each other than my 
 friend and I. For years we were almost insep- 
 arable. One day he related to me the story of his 
 life. Hear it and judge for yourself whether the 
 annals of fiction record so strange a tale. He told 
 how through the harshness of the Duke, his father, 
 he ran away, came to this country, met a boy of 
 his own age, George Stanley, and induced him to 
 leave his home and go West with him ; how he ob- 
 served a singular resemblance between himself and 
 Stanley, and became irresistibly impelled to learn 
 his chum's life in its entirety; how he drank in 
 the recital as though a power beyond his control 
 urged him to gain this knowledge; how after five 
 years of companionship, braving together the dan- 
 gers and enduring the privations of life in the 
 great West, they located in Arizona and there 
 staked a claim; how one evening, while not far 
 from camp, in shifting his rifle from hand to arm 
 it slipped from his grasp, striking a bowlder as it 
 fell, was discharged, and his friend lay weltering 
 in his blood; how, as Stanley lay dying, remorse 
 filling the Earl's heart, he swore a solemn vow to 
 
 138 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 replace a lost son to a bereaved mother ; how, bury- 
 ing his ill-fated friend near the spot and marking 
 it with a cross-like bowlder, he returned to Stan- 
 ley's home, was received as a long-lost son, and 
 took his place in the affections of both father and 
 mother as though the real son; how for years he 
 fulfilled every filial obligation. It was then I met 
 him. Though a roamer, he religiously kept his 
 foster parents apprised of his whereabouts, and 
 being naturally generous, he frequently sent them 
 money, although I do not know that they were at 
 any time in need. Such is the story. An enigma 
 while he lived, he remains an enigma even beyond 
 the grave. He had been operating the Earl Charles 
 mine and withholding my dividends, but to this 
 day I am in utter ignorance of the means by which 
 the capital was raised to continue the work. But 
 for that I would be a poor man to-day. 
 
 Yon Guttenberg : Then I will tell you. Your 
 wife gave him the money. 
 
 Milward: My wife! Impossible! {Rises and 
 walks about.) 
 
 Yon Guttenberg: Here, I have the proof. 
 This is the receipt. He gave it to your wife. It is 
 for two thousand dollars. 
 
 Milward {talcing receipt) : True — true. The 
 
 139 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 exact sum he sought to obtain from me. You got 
 this from my wife ? 
 
 Von Guttenberg : Yes. After Delamere died 
 we were very friendly. She had nobody to look 
 out for her. You were gone and she was left all 
 alone. Poor lady ! How sad she always seemed ! 
 Not on his account — oh, no ! She had learned 
 what a villain he was. I stayed by her so I could 
 do something when she needed the advice of a 
 friend. 
 
 Milward : Yes, yes, I see it all. The receipt is 
 in my name. She has been generous. She gave 
 him her money, though it was her all. She has 
 grievously erred, but this tribute to her unselfish- 
 ness earns my deepest gratitude. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: If you say that, dear 
 friend, then — then you will take her back — 
 you 
 
 Milward: No more, I beg of you. 
 
 Von Guttenberg: But listen, dear Mr. Mil- 
 ward. I 
 
 Milward. Why reopen a wound that it has 
 pleased me to think had healed ? I have schooled 
 myself to our eternal separation. Let not your 
 friendly zeal prompt you to a course that can bring 
 naught but regret to us all. 
 
 140 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (Reenter Adelaide. She stands at door of sum- 
 mer-house, listening.) 
 
 Von Guttenberg: I must speak! I came 
 from her. She 
 
 Milward (turns and walks to left) : No! no! 
 The chapter is closed. Could but the past be blot- 
 ted out ! Could that fatal page which showed her 
 the toy of Delamere be erased from her life ! 
 Could — ah, my friend, has she — has she not lost 
 all claim to virtuous womanhood? 
 
 Von Guttenberg : No ! no ! Never ! I swear 
 it! 
 
 (Adelaide sinks down on rustic bench and 
 sobs.) 
 
 Milward: What sound is that? 
 
 Von Guttenberg: It is your wife! She 
 came with me. She has come to explain all and 
 be again joined with you. She is innocent of 
 wrong-doing. I swear it ! She asks your love and 
 forgiveness. Have pity! Do not send her away! 
 Think ! The mother of your darling child waits 
 there and dies for a word of hope — of love — of 
 pity ! Will you not say it ? Will you not give her 
 life again? Go! Noble friend, husband, father, 
 go! 
 
 141 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 (Von Guttenberg withdraws. Milward slow- 
 ly advances toward Adelaide. She sits in a de- 
 jected attitude at one end of the settee. He stands 
 for a moment gazing compassionately upon her, 
 then seats himself at her side.) 
 
 Milward : Adelaide — wife — weep no more ! 
 Turn to me, dearest. The dead past shall be 
 buried — forgotten. In its place the happy pres- 
 ent, with its world of future hope and bliss. The 
 sweet days of yore shall return again — those days 
 when our love was young and no shadow ever came 
 to dim earth's brightest blessings. Our hearts 
 were then untried — untested. The lesson has been 
 learned — we are the better for it. It was hard, 
 but it is learned for all eternity. Look in my 
 eyes, darling, and read there my soul. It is yours. 
 On your honor and truth I stake all ! Come to 
 me ! Adelaide ! Wife ! 
 
 (She throws her arms wildly about his neck.) 
 
 Adelaide: My noble husband! (They em- 
 brace.) 
 Milward : After the clouds, the sunshine ; 
 After the toil, the rest; 
 'Fond hearts now thee entwine. 
 Forever thus thy path be blest. 
 142 
 
AN AMERICAN EARL. 
 
 Adelaide : bliss ! joy ! My heaven-born 
 — let me see her ! 
 
 Milward (they rise) : In this moment of onr 
 ecstasy there is still another to be remembered. 
 That grand man and unselfish friend, he who 
 without reward, save the consciousness of well- 
 doing, has been the instrument of all our happi- 
 ness — Carl Von Guttenberg! Come forth, de- 
 voted friend ! 
 
 (Von Guttenberg advances, his face beaming 
 with delight.) 
 
 Milward (graspingVox Guttenberg's hand) : 
 My friend, I can — say — nothing — my heart is too 
 full. God bless you ! 
 
 (A pause, during which Violet runs out of the 
 house and down the steps. She stands for a mo^ 
 ment gazing in a bewildered manner at Adelaide, 
 then with a glad cry rushes into her mother's 
 arms.) 
 
 Violet : Mother ! 
 
 CUKTAIN". 
 
 end of act v. 
 
 (Music — "Heimweh" as curtain descends.) 
 
 FINIS. 
 143 
 
CHAEACTEES EEPEESENTED. 
 
 Frank Milward. 
 Delamere. 
 
 WlDDESTON. 
 
 Carl Yon Guttenberg. 
 Count de Lempriere. 
 Thaddeus Seabury. 
 Bagsby. 
 John Ellison. 
 Adelaide Milward. 
 Dorothy Deming. 
 Pearl Westholme. 
 Mrs. Westholme. 
 Mrs. Hartley. 
 Mrs. Ellison. 
 May Ellison. 
 Violet Milward. 
 Officer, Clergyman, Bell Boy, Actors, and 
 Actresses. 
 
NOV 8" 1900 
 
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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 400 228 9