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 ONE OF OUR GIRLS 
 
 A Comedy in Four Acts 
 
 BRONSON HOWARD 
 
 Copyright 1897 by Bronson Howard 
 
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CHAEAOTEES. 
 
 Dr. Girodet. 
 
 m. fonblanque. 
 
 Capt. John Gregory (Fifth Lancers). 
 
 CoMTE Florian de Crebillon. 
 
 Henri Saint-Hilaire. 
 
 Le Due DE Fouche-Fonblanque. 
 
 Andre. 
 
 Pierre. 
 
 Mme. Fonblanque. 
 
 •TULIE. 
 
 Miss Kate Shipley. 
 Solicitor. 
 
SCEI^ES. 
 
 Paris.— The Chateau Fonblanque, and an Apartment in the 
 Rue de Rivoli. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 French Ideas and American Ideas. 
 
 An interval of six months. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 An International Kiss. 
 
 ACT III. 
 In Two Scenes. 
 
 The French Result of a French Marriage. 
 
 An American Girl and an English Officer in a French Situation. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 A Scientific Experiment. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE. — Apartment in the Chateau Fonhla/nque, in the suburbs 
 of Paris. Richly furnished and vpholstered. Large double 
 doors up c. Doors vp r., up l. and r. 1 e. Mantelpiece and 
 fire down l. Large table, c. , half up stage. Arm chairs, l. c. 
 and B. Small table, r. High-backed chair ?/_p R. C. Small 
 chairs., R. c. and up c. Wlien the double doors at back are 
 thrown open, a richly furnished dra wing-room is seen. 
 
 DISCOVERED.— M. Fonblanque, silting down., l. c, in thought. 
 
 FoNB. Our little daughter, Julie, is to sign her marriage con- 
 tract this morning! It seems only yesterday that she was first 
 brought to me in her nurse's arms. 
 
 [Enter Dr. Girodet, up r., looking at a document in his hand.] 
 
 You have finished with the solicitor. Francois ? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. The marriage contract is quite correct, if it sat- 
 isfies you. Thank heaven! I have had nothing to do with the docu- 
 ment, except to save you the trouble of reading it over with the 
 lawyers. 
 
 Fois'B. I am under great obligations to you, cousin. These 
 business affairs always annoy me. 
 
 Doctor. And the marriage of a young girl is a strictly " busi- 
 ness " affair. The solicitor says that the Count de Crebillon has 
 insisted, to the last, that you told him Julie's dowry was to be sis 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs. 
 
 FoXB. The Count assured me that the offer of his hand to my 
 daughter was based on that amount. 
 
 Doctor. He threw in his heart for nothing. (Aside.) It's all 
 it^s worth! 
 
 FoNB. 1 didn't care to insist on the difference between us; it 
 was only fifty thousand francs. 
 
 Doctor. It would be a pity for a stern father to blast an ar- 
 dent lover's affection for so small an amount. {Gives Fonblanque 
 /he paper and turns away, r.) I suppose it has become my duty, 
 at last, Philiippe — my formal and painful duty — to congratulate 
 you on Julie's approaching marriagre. 
 
 FONB. Your "painful" duty! You have persisted in opposing 
 this union from the first. The Count de Crebillon's title is one 
 of the oldest and most honorable in France. 
 
 Doctor. His title? Yes. But the Count himself ! 
 
 FoNB. His ancestors 
 
6 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Doctor. His character! When a family improves as it grows 
 older, it commands my most profound respect. So does a cheese. 
 But in the case before us, if we test the cheese, I would say, the 
 family 
 
 FoNB. The Crebillons of the fourteenth century figure most 
 conspicuously in the pages of Froissart's chronicles. 
 
 Doctor. The Crebillons of the nineteenth century figure most 
 conspicuously in the columns of the sporting press. The present 
 Count is a roue; a notorious duellist; and, without the dowry he 
 is about to gain with your daughter, he would soon add the honor- 
 ary degree of " Bankrupt " to that of " Gambler." His first wife 
 was a disgrace to his title; but even she did less to dishonor it 
 than he, himself, has done. 
 
 FoNB. The Count has his peccadilloes, I admit. As to his 
 first marriage, he appreciates the error very deeply; but, luckily, 
 there were no children. The real question at issue is that of unit- 
 ing two streams of noble blood. On all questions of that kind, my 
 dear Francois, your ideas are always — I may call them revolution- 
 ary; and, really, I object to them. 
 
 Doctor. I dare say you object to the revolution of the earth 
 around the sun — because it wasn't mentioned in Froissart, and you 
 have grave doubts of the social respectability of the planetary 
 system. The more recently discovered planets are mere parvenus. 
 
 FoiSiB. The Count de Crebillon's personal character is a mere 
 incident in the progress of a noble family. 
 
 Doctor. And poor little Julie ? She, too, is a mere incident. 
 
 FoNB. Julie is delighted at the idea of becoming a married 
 woman. 
 
 Doctor. I can quite understand that. She lon^ s to be free from 
 the restraints to which every youDg girl is condemned — in France, 
 at least — from infancy to matrimony. She can see little or noth- 
 ing of the world, and she dreams of pleasures in store for her 
 beyond her prison-bars. Marriage, toayoungFrenchgirl, meansall 
 that freedom does to a convict. Of course, Julie is happy at the 
 idea of becoming a married woman. But does that fact relieve 
 you, cousin, of all responsibility for the character of the man 
 who7ii you have chosen for her husband ? 
 
 FoNB. In marrying the Count, Julie merely fulfills her social 
 duty, in the position to which she was born. Our own family 
 dates back many centuries 
 
 Doctor. Yes. The original ape, from which the rest of the 
 human race descended, was a pet monkey in the Fonblanque fam- 
 ily. Phillippe, you are trying to unite two great French families 
 by a young girfs hand. Mark my words — her heart will be 
 crushed between them ! 
 
 {Enter Madam Fonblanque, up r.] 
 
 Mme. F. I have just left our dear little Julie She's the 
 brightest and merriest bride-elect that ever signed a marriage con- 
 tract. Her governess can do nothing with her; and her dressing- 
 maid can hardly keep her still long enough to arrange her hair. 
 {Sitting^ r.) Haven't you heard her laughing? 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 7 
 
 Doctor. ( ITp c.) I hope I shall hear her laugh in the future. 
 
 FONB. By-the-bye, my dear — {Shoicing a note.) — I received a 
 letter from Henri Saint-Hilaire. 
 
 Mme. F. {Up c.) From Henri! 
 
 FoNB. He reached Paris, from South America, yesterday. I 
 dare say he will be out here to-day. 
 
 Mme. F. How very strange! Julie told me that she dreamed 
 of Henri last night. I have been thinking of him, myself, con- 
 tinually of late. 
 
 Doctor. I have always hoped that Henri Saint-Hilaire would 
 be something: more to Julie than her old playfellow. For my own 
 part, I heartily wish that he were in the place of the Count de 
 Crebillon, to-day. 
 
 FoNB. You are talking nonsense, Francois. I — I — love Henri, 
 myself, very dearly. 
 
 Mme. F. And I also; very dearly! 
 
 FoNB We always have — both of us. Henri was an excellent 
 student, too; and he has already distinguished himself in his hum- 
 ble profession But he is a mere scientific man. 
 
 Mme. F. We cannot forget our own blue blood, Francois. 
 
 FoNB. Henri has no family whatever. 
 
 Doctor. No family! Etienne Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire! The 
 discoverer of truths in science that have advanced the human 
 race! Isidore Saint-Hilaire! Mere scientific men! Their names 
 and their works have carried the irlory of France beyond the reach 
 of her armies. The Crebillons and the Fonblanques, mentioned 
 by Froissart, were only preparing the way for such men as they! 
 That is the family of Henri Saint-Hilaire! 
 
 \^Eriter Pierre, up l.] 
 
 Pierre. M. le Due de Fouche-Fonblanque. 
 
 Doctor. Here's morn Froissart. Damn Froissart! 
 [Enter the Due de Fouche-Fonblanque, up l. Exit Pierre.] 
 
 Due. Mathilde! Phillippe! 
 
 FoNB. AND Mme. F. Victorien! 
 
 Due. Francois! {To Doctoi^^ hawing.) My dear cousin. 
 
 Doctor. {Boicing.) On my mothers side. 
 
 Due. I am quite aware that vou are related to the Fonblanque 
 family, on your mother's side, Doctor, but why do you mention 
 the fact so particularly whenever /address you as my cousin? 
 
 Doctor Out of respect for my father's memory. 
 
 Due. Oh! That has something to do with science, I suppose. 
 I never do know what you are talking about, Doctor. {Turns 
 down.) 1 lost another hundred thousand at the races, yesterday, 
 Phillippe. That makes nearly a million francs since January. 
 I haven't been so lucky this year as I was last; I lost only half a 
 million francs last year. Some one always tells me which horse 
 is goino- "to win, and I always bet on that horse; and then one of 
 the other horses comes in first. Speaking of my losses, by-the- 
 bye, some of my creditors are getting anxious. When did you say 
 you expected Mme. FonbJanque's rich American niece from New 
 York? 
 
8 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 FoNB. We may hear of lier arrival at any moment, now. 
 
 Due. I thought you said about this time. You wrote to her 
 father, informing him that I would marry the girl as soon after 
 her arrival in France as possible. Did you say anything about the 
 dowry I should expect ? 
 
 FoNB. I asked him to co7umunicate with me on that subject. 
 
 Mme. F. We have received a photograph of Kate. 
 
 Dec. Oh! Her name is Kate. 
 
 Mme. F. Here it is, Due 
 
 Due Thank you; I'll look at it, presently. What do you think 
 we ought to put the dowry at, Cousin Phillippe ? We must re- 
 member, of course, that Mr. Shipley is a — not exactly a ccmmon 
 tradesman, I believe — but an ordinary business man; and only an 
 American business man at that. 
 
 FONB. He is a banker and capitalist. 
 
 DoeTOR. ( Up R. c ) You mustn't sell your title too cheaply, 
 Due. 
 
 Due. Pardon me, Doctor, but I don't like that word sell. A 
 nobleman is not a common tradesman. As to this little American 
 girl, herself, I must remember that she will come to me without 
 education, or the manners of a lady. Of course, I know that she 
 is your niece, Mathilde; but, as you sister ran away from France 
 with an American husband, twenty years ago 
 
 Mme. F. Ah, Due! it was a source of untold grief to us. Our 
 families were never reconciled — until 
 
 DoeTOR. Until Mr. Shipley had made a large fortune. 
 
 Mme. F. Until we felt tliat further persistence in our family 
 pride would be unchristian. When my sister returned to visit us, 
 seven years ago, I wished to detain her daughter in France. If 
 they had allowed me to do so, the girl would have been a refined 
 and well-bred lady, now. As it is, you cannotexpect the elegance 
 of manner and the accomplishments, which have been beyond her 
 reach, in a partially civilized country. 
 
 Due. Of course not. I shall be obliged to introduce her to the 
 ladies of my family; it will be a great trial to them. 
 
 Mme, F, It will, indeed. 
 
 Due I think the dowry should be at least twice as large as I 
 should expect if I were conferring my hand and title on a lady of 
 our own nationality. 
 
 Mme. F. Quite double the amount, 
 
 [Enter Pierre, up l.] 
 
 Pierre. A letter, monsieur. 
 
 FONB. ( Taking it ) From New York. [Exit Pierre, ?/p l. 
 This is Mr. Shiplev's answer. 
 
 Due. Ah! {Sits, e.) 
 
 FoNB. {Beading.) " New York, March 21st, 1885. My dear 
 Fonblanque: Kate will sail on the Ville de Paris to-morrow." 
 This letter must have come by the same steamer; she is in France, 
 now! {Reads. ) " My bankers in Paris are Messrs. Drexel, Brown 
 & Co. I have instructed them to accept Kate's checks to the 
 amount of five thousand dollars. When she needs more, she will 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 9 
 
 advise me by cable.'"' Accept Kate's checks ? A girl of nineteen 
 doesn't know what the word " check " means! 
 
 Mme. F. I'm sure Julie hasn't the slightest notion. 
 
 Doctor. I have been informed that American girls do under- 
 stand the expression. An American patient of mine, in Paris, once 
 told me that both his daughters used the word check frequently, in 
 conversation with himself. 
 
 Due. What does Mr. Shipley say about my approaching mar- 
 riage with his daughter. 
 
 FoNB. {Reading) "' I remain, in haste, yours, etc., Robert 
 G. Shipley." 
 
 Due. is that all there is in the letter V 
 
 FoKB {Heading.) "Over."' {TuriiH page.) A postscript! 
 
 Due. A — a postscript! 
 
 FoNB. {Reading.) " You spoke in one of your letters about 
 some Duke that wants to marry my daughter." 
 
 Due. Some — Duke? 
 
 FONB. " If his morals are good, 1 haven't any objection to him. 
 He and Kitty may settle ii between them. What business is the 
 Duke in ?^' * 
 
 {Th^. Due stirU to his feet. The Doctor shows suppressed 
 laughter. ) 
 
 Due. Business! — I! — in business! 
 
 Doctor. Send him your business card, Duke! {Taking a card 
 from table and continuing^ as if reading from it.) " Le Due de 
 Fouche-Fonblanque, speculator in thoroughbred horses — imported 
 from England; and in wealthy young girls — imported from 
 America.''' 
 
 Due. "Kitty" and I — can "settle the matter"— between us? 
 What has the girl, herself, to say about it ? Mr. Shipley hasn't 
 any objection to me! 
 
 Doctor. If your morals are good. 
 
 Due. In the name of all that's incomprehensible, what have a 
 gentleman's morals to do with his marrying another man's 
 daughter ? 
 
 Doctor. Nothing whatever — in France. 
 
 FoNB. {Rising) Captain Gregory! 
 
 [Enter Captain John Gregory, ^/p r.] 
 
 Good morning. 
 
 Captain. Good morning, M. Fonblanque! Madame! Due! 
 Dr. Girodet! 
 
 Due. and Doctor. Captain! 
 
 Mme. F. I trust you have slept well — jour first night at the 
 Chateau Fonblanque. 
 
 Captain. Thank you, yes. Beautiful suburbs, Paris. I took 
 a charming stroll this morning, about ten miles — all by myself. 
 Pm enjoying my visit immensely. 
 
 [Enter Pierre, up u , tcitJi a card on S'dver. FonbLxVNQUE 
 takes it.] 
 
10 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 FoNB. Our niece, my dear! {Beading.) " Miss Kate Sliipley, 
 Park Avenue, New York." I will meet her. 
 
 l^Exit, up 'L., followed by Pierre. 
 
 Due. The Indian Princess has arrived. 
 
 Mme. F. a young American girl, Captain. 
 
 Captain. Ah! 1 never met any Americans, myself. {Mjmng 
 to mantel, l.) Major Radclift, of our regiment, got acquainted with 
 a number of Americans, once. IViey were girls. He told me they 
 were rather nice. Most girls are rather nice! 
 
 {Enter Kate, up l., followed by Fonblanque. She stops, 
 up L. c, glancing about, quicMy, then dropping her eyes. She 
 looks up and advances a few steps toicards Mme. Fonblanque, 
 who has risen. Kate stops, as if noticing her cool dignity of 
 manner, and waits for her to speak.) 
 
 Mme. F. My niece! 
 Kate. Aunt! 
 
 {She goes to her loith a quick step, but stops, suddenly, before 
 her, again, checked by her manner. Mme. Fonblanque 
 kisses her forehead.) 
 
 Mme. F. We are glad to see you in France again, Kate. 
 
 Kate. I — I thank you. {Choking ) Forgive me, madam, 
 but — {Touching her eyes.) — when I first saw you, it — it seemed as 
 if my own mother were standing before me. On the night she 
 died, four years ago, she drew me to her breast, and kissed me; 
 and she said that I must take that kiss — to her sister, in France. 
 
 Mme. F. My child! 
 
 {With some feeling.^ though still with calm dignity, taking 
 Kate's hand. Kate kisses her. ) 
 
 FoNB. Let me introduce you to our friends, Kate. This is 
 Dr. Girodet, a relative. 
 
 Doctor. You and I will be very good friends, my dear. 
 
 Kate. {Heartily.) I am sure we shall be, Doctor. 
 
 FoNB. Captain Gregory, of the British Army; our niece. 
 
 Captain. Miss Shipley! [Boicing.) 
 
 Kate. ( Rowing. ) Captain ! 
 
 Captain. {Aside.) She's Y&ther mcel 
 
 FoNB. Our cousin, the Due deFouche- Fonblanque. {77ie Due 
 advances up l. e., bowing.) 
 
 Kate. Due! {With a bo u\) Fm very glad to meet you, Cap- 
 tain Gregory. 
 
 {Grossing to him, in front of Due. 17ie Due rises from his 
 bow, looking astonished, and turning to Doctor.) 
 
 Captain. Thank you. I trust you had a pleasant voyage, 
 Miss Shipley. 
 
 Kate. Charming! 
 
 FoNB. It was a long distance for a young girl to come, alone, 
 with no one but your governess in charge of you. {Sitting, R. C. ) 
 
 Kate. My — governess — uncle ? I'm nineteen years old. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 11 
 
 Mme, F. The same age as Julie. 
 
 Kate. Has Julie a governess ? 
 
 Mme. F. All young girls in France have, until they are 
 married. 
 
 Kate. I am my own governess ; and papa's, too. Every 
 American girl is. Papa needed a governess badly, poor darling, 
 after he lost dear mamma, until / w as old enough to look after him. 
 I keep house for him, aunt, and manage all the servants. If a 
 girl doesn't learn how to govern herself before she's married, I 
 don't see how she can govern her husband and the rest of her 
 household afterwards. {Sitting, l. c.) 
 
 Due. {Aside.) Govern — her — husband! 
 
 Kate. I arrived in Paris on Tuesday evening, and should have 
 come out here at once, only I had so many purchases to make. I 
 bought two new trunks, and I filled them both. I wanted to see 
 my bankers, too. 
 
 Due. {Aside.) Her bankers! 
 
 Mme. F. {Aside.) A young girl of nineteen with a banker! 
 
 Kate. Papa gave me some New York Central shares for my 
 last birthday present, and, just before I sailed, he wanted to sell 
 them for me. But they were only ninety-nine cents, and the Secre- 
 tary of the company is Superintendent of our Sunday School. The 
 clergyman told me that he whispered to him, on the previous Sun- 
 day, while he was changing his gown in the vestry, just before 
 the sermon, that New York Central shares were sure to go up. So 
 1 told |japa not to sell mine. My bankers in Paris told me, yester- 
 day, that they were a hundred and ten! Dear papa! I never 
 could get him to go to church, but he'll go regularly after this! 
 
 FoxB. You say you have no governess; but surely you were 
 not alone on the voyage. 
 
 Kate. Oh, no! A family — old friends of ours — came on the 
 same steamer; a father and mother and their two sons. 1 was 
 never alone; one of the young gentlemen was always with me. 
 
 Mme. F. {Aside.) One of the gentlemen! 
 
 Kate. The party came as far as Rouen, also, on the train from 
 Havre. I came the rest of the way alone. 
 
 FoNii. All the way from Rouen to Paris! It was very unsafe, 
 my dear girl! 
 
 Mme F. And highly imprudent! 
 
 Kate. I have traveled hundreds of miles alone, in America; 
 why not here ? But 1 confess my first experience was an extremely 
 disagreeable one. A gentleman sat opposite to me, when we left 
 Rouen. That is, I mistook him for a gentleman at first, because 
 I heard his servant address him as a ''Count " before the train 
 started. 
 
 Due. You were alone in the compartment with a — a Count! 
 
 Kate. All alone, Due! — with a French Count — in a French 
 train — on a French railway — in France. To tell the truth, the 
 Count made himself exceedingly disagreeable to me the first five 
 miles. 
 
 DoeTOR. My child! 
 
 Mme. F. What did you do ? 
 
12 ONE OF OUK GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. I looked him straight in the eye, for the nei't five miles; 
 and he changed his compartment at the first station. 
 
 Captain. {Aside.) If I were charging a redoubt, I shouldn't 
 like to meet an American girl on top of it. 
 
 FoNB. You must never expose yourself to such a risk again, 
 Kate. 
 
 Kate. I never shall. If I ever again see a nobleman in a rail- 
 way train, I'll get into another compartment. But Cousin Julie! 
 I'm longing to see her again. 
 
 FoNB. You have come just in time to witness the signing of 
 her marriage contract, 
 
 Kate. What^s that, uncle ? 
 
 FoNB. Have they no such ceremony in America! 
 
 Kate. The only marriage contract I ever heard of is where a 
 gentleman asks a young lady to be his wife, and she says "no" 
 and changes it to "yes" before he has time to drop her hand; 
 then they kiss each other. Thai's the American ceremony. But 
 we never have any witnesses to the contract! 
 
 Mme. F. Allow me to remark, my niece, that a gentleman in 
 France is never permitted to be alone with a young lady, even 
 after they are engaged to be married, much less to kiss her! 
 
 Kate. It's different in America. I've never been engaged 
 myself, but a lot of other girls I know have been. When two 
 young people, there, are making love, other people get to the 
 furthest room in the house, and shut all the doors between. If 
 anyone looks into the parlor, he dodges back as if he'd just 
 thought of an engagement somewhere else. Two lovers in Amer- 
 ica are put in (piarantiue. They might as well be on a desert 
 island together — but they never ^eem to be lonely! 
 
 Mme. F. Do gentlemen in your country make love to young 
 ladies in person, then ? 
 
 Kate. They'd all die old bachelors if they didn't. You are 
 in the Fifth Lancers, Captain Gregory? 
 
 Captain. Yes. 
 
 Kate. I met Major Radclift, of your regiment, in Paris, yes- 
 terday. 
 
 Captain. Oh! 
 
 Kate. He said you were vi>itihg here. 
 
 Captain. Ah! 
 
 Kate. He told me you were the bravest officer in the regi- 
 ment. 
 
 Captain. Yes. I mean — exactly — that is — of course — I would 
 say — I — I beg your pardon — [Moning up.)—h\xt I haven't had my 
 regular exercise this morning; I'll take a few turns in the garden. 
 ^J^Aside.) Damn Major Radclift! [Exit, up l. 
 
 Doctor. Captain Gregory never beat a retreat like that in the 
 face of an enemy. 
 
 [Enter Pierre, up l.] 
 
 Pierre. M. le Comie de Crebillon has arrived. M. Fonblanque. 
 
 FoNB. {Rising. 7'o Due.) Will you join us. Due ? 
 
 Due. With pleasure. [Exit Fonblanque, up l., followed by 
 Pierre. J Au revoir. Miss Kate! 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 13 
 
 Kate. Au revoir! By-the-hye, Due, ray father received a let- 
 ter from uQcle just before I left New York. 
 
 Due. Yes ? 
 
 Kate. About a matter of business. 
 
 Due (Aside ) Business! (Aloud.) I requested M. Fon- 
 blanque to address your father 
 
 K\TE. I am papa's ag nt. But Pll not detain you, now. We 
 will settle the -business — at some future time. 
 
 Due. Yes. (Aside, going.) I've proposed to an American girl! 
 I'll leave it to my lawyer. I could never manage it myself. 
 
 [Exit, ivp L. 
 
 Doctor. (Aside, sitting at table, up c.) I suspect tlie Due's 
 creditors will have to wait awhile for that dowry. (Mme. Fon- 
 BLANQUE rises, II. Kate rises, l.) 
 
 Mme. F. The apartments prepared for you, Kate, are at your 
 service. 
 
 Kate. Thank you, aunt; but I left all my trunks at the hotel, 
 to follow me. 
 
 Mme. F. (Aside.) All her trunks! 
 
 Doctok. (Aside.) Opening skirmish of the campaign— a 
 Freuf-h aunt and an American niece. (A hook or paper before 
 7iim.) 
 
 Mme. F, Did I understand you to say that you were alone in 
 the streets of Paris, yesterday and the day before ? 
 
 Kate. Yes, aunt. 
 
 Mme. F. Surely, there was a maid, at least, with you. 
 
 Kate. I never had a maid. It's bad enough to look after the 
 other servants. 
 
 Mme. F. Permit me to say that no young lady, in Paris, is 
 expected to be seen on the streets without a suitable companion. 
 
 Kate. If a girl can't be tru^^ted alone at nineteen, aunt, she 
 can't be at ninety. I spent all yesterday afternoon at the Louvre 
 gallery. 
 
 Mme. F. The Louvre! No young girl should visit a public 
 gallery withovit a governess, or other older companion. They all 
 eonrain many pictures which are highly improper for a young girl. 
 
 Kate. I hadn't any governess to point out the improper pic- 
 tures, so I looked at the others. My friends came on from Rouen, 
 and joined me again, yesterday noon. One of the young gentle- 
 men took me to a concert in the evening. 
 
 Mme F. I am positively shocked! You — you went out — in the 
 evening — with a gentleman! 
 
 Kate Yes, aunt. 
 
 Mme. F Let me say to you, once for all, that nothing what- 
 ever of that kind must ever occur again, while you are under my 
 roof. 
 
 Kate. Surely, aunt, when a young lady is entrusted to a gen- 
 tleman's care, he is her natural protector until she returns to her 
 home. 
 
 Mme. F. I dare say you have invented a new kind of young 
 man in America. 
 
14 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. Tliere must be some gentlemen, here, that can be trusted 
 like that. What kind of young men do girls marry in France- 
 nice girls, I mean — like Julie and me? 
 
 Mme. F. I will converse with you further, my niece, when we 
 are at leisure, on the customs to which young girls are expected 
 to conform in countries more civilized than America. 
 
 Kate. Thank you, aunt. I will try to do everything I can to 
 please you, while I am a visitor at your house. If 1 find it impos- 
 sible to do so, without sacrificing my own self-respect, I shall 
 cease, of course, to be a visitor. 
 
 {They both how with great dignity. Mme. Fonblanque 
 moves up l. ) 
 
 Doctor. {Aside.) End of the first encounter. There'll be 
 plenty more! {Rising.) 
 
 Mme. F. You will assist M. Fonblanque and myself in receiv- 
 ing our guests, Francois ? 
 
 Doctor. I will follow you, madame. 
 
 \_Exit Mme. Fonblanque, up l. 
 
 [Julie runs in, gaily, up r.] 
 
 Julie. Uncle Francois! {Throws her arms around the neck of 
 the Doctor, who receives her in his arms.) I'm going to be a 
 married woman, uncle! Just think of it! {Laughing.) A mar- 
 ried woman! 
 
 Doctor. My pet! I hope you will always come to me with a 
 smile like that on your face. 
 
 {Kisses her and turns to go. He turns again, throws her a 
 kiss, smiling, and goes out, up l. Julie throws a kiss after 
 him, then turns down c. She stops, abruptly, and looks at 
 Kate.) 
 
 Julie. Why! It isn't -Oh! 
 
 Kate. {Kxtending Jier arms.) Julie! 
 
 Julie. Kate! {The two girls are clasped in each other's arms.) 
 I've been wishing so much you could be here, to-day. Let me 
 look at you! Take ofE your hat! {Taking her hat.) There! 
 {Draioing lack and looking at her.) I'd have known you any- 
 where; and yet— you have changed, too; you — you seem like a 
 woman, now. 
 
 Kate. And you seem to me the same sweet, innocent girl of 
 twelve that I remember you — seven years ago. 
 
 Julie. Yes; and I am very tired of being a sweet, innocent 
 girl. Aren't you ? But I am to be married, in a few weeks, and 
 — oh! I can be your chaperon! 
 
 Kate. {Laughing.) My chaperon! 
 
 J ULIE. You won't be obliged to have your governess with you 
 all the time. Have you a nice governess? I have. She never 
 tells mamma anything I do. Ha, ha, ha! I ran away from gover- 
 ness, in Paris, last week, and I was all alone on the streets for 
 nearly two hours! I was almost run over, once; but it was such 
 fun! Ha, ha, ha! I went into the Champs Elysees all by myself! 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 15 
 
 Governess found me, at last, in front of one of the marionette 
 shows; she was awfully frightened, but she never said a word 
 about it to mamma. If your governess isn't a nice one, you shall 
 have mine, as soon as I m married. 
 
 Kate. Thank you, my dear; I'm perfectly satisfied with my 
 own governess; when I do anything wrong, she never calls any- 
 one's attention to it. But now you must teli me, darling — {Putting 
 her arm around her waist, and icalking to and fro.) — all about 
 your marriage. You must be very happy. 
 
 Julie. Yes; I am. My trousseau will be lovely! 
 
 Kate. Is the gentleman light or dark ? 
 
 Julie. He has dark hair and eyes, I believe, but I barely 
 noticed him when he called. 
 
 (Kate stops, l. c, drops her arms from, Julie's icaist^ and 
 falls back, step by step, staring at her. ) 
 
 Mamma didn't tell me, till just before he came, that he was to be 
 my husband; and it seemed so strange, you know. I hardly 
 raised my eyes; and the room was rather dark, too. My wedding 
 dress is to be white brocaded satin, with a long train — it will be 
 the first train I ever had — with sprays of orange blossoms run- 
 ning 
 
 Kate. You are going to marry a man you have never seen but 
 once — and you didn't look at him, then — and the room was dark! 
 
 Julie. The Count was obliged to leave Paris that afternoon. 
 
 Kate. Oh! He's a Count. 
 
 Julie. Yes. A gentleman usually calls at least twice before 
 the contract is signed, but he wrote to father and apologized. He 
 couldn't get back until this morning. 
 
 Kate. Didn't he ever propose to gou.f 
 
 Julie. The Count proposed to father for my hand, of course. 
 
 Kate. Why didn't you tell him to marry your father ? 
 
 Julie. Ha, ha, ha, ha! It's quite immaterial to me which of 
 us he marries. 
 
 Kate. You do not love him, Julie! You cannot, of course. 
 
 Julie. Love him? No; I'm only going to marry him! 
 
 Kate. Oh! That's all! 
 
 Jui.iE. Married! I can go where I please, and see what I 
 please. I can meet anyone I like — and there must be a lot of 
 nice, wicked things in the world that an innocent young girl 
 doesn't know anything about. I'm to be a married woman! 
 
 Kate. Ah! I see. A canary to be suddenly released from its 
 cage! We American birds are bred in the open air, Julie; we're 
 a little wild, perhaps, but we choose our own mates; and we settle 
 down very comfortably in our nests, with them, afterwards. Do 
 girls really marry men, in France, before they have listened to 
 words of tenderness and affection from their lips ? It doesn't 
 seem — forgive me, Julie — but it doesn't seem modest and womanly 
 to me for a girl to become a man's wife before she has heard such 
 words — before they have even kissed each other. 
 
 Julie. Kissed each other! Oh! That would be very wrong — 
 before marriage. 
 
16 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. If a ^irl doesn't love a man so mucli she can't help 
 kissing him, she oughtn t to marry him at all. But you and I 
 can't make each other understand these things. We have been 
 brought up so far apart, and in such different countries. We'll 
 talk about old times, when we were children together; we under- 
 stood each other perfectly, then. Is the old garden just as it used 
 to be? And — oh! — where is the big boy, now, that used to play 
 with us? He was three or four years older than we were; the 
 one that was visiting here. 
 
 Julie. Henri Saint-Hilaire ? 
 
 Kate. Yes; that was his name. 
 
 JuLfE. Henri went away from France soon afterwards; but he 
 came back for a few months about two years ago, and he visited 
 here, again. Do you remember the old well, Kate, down in the 
 furthest and darkest corner of the garden ? 
 
 Kate. Yes, indeed, 1 do, and the story about it. If a girl sees 
 a gentleman's face beside her own, when she looks down into the 
 water, on a moonlight night— that gentleman will be her husband. 
 We girls used to climb up and look over the curb, but, ha, ha, 
 ha, ha! we always omitted a very important part of the ceremony; 
 we didn't take tlie geLtleman with us. 
 
 Jdlie. I did see a face beside mine, one evening, about two 
 years ago. It was during Henri's last visit; the very night before 
 he went away again. Ha, ha, ha! It was such a lark! I ran 
 around one side of the chtteau, and Henri lan around the other 
 side. Governess saw us coming back, but she never said any- 
 thing about it. 
 
 Kate. The story of the old well won t turn out true in this 
 case, Julie! 
 
 JufJE. {With a shade of momentary sad/i ess.) Of course not. 
 It couldn't turn out true. Henri doesn't belong to an old French 
 family, as I do. {Then hrightening and looking around, laugh- 
 ingly, her fingers to her lips.) H— s— h! I'll tell you a secret. 
 Henri kissed me at the old well! Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Kate. You said, just now, that it was wrong, in France, to 
 allow a gentleman to kiss you, before you are married to him. 
 
 Julie. But I'm not going to marrv Henri. 
 
 Kate. Oh! 
 
 Julie. Besides, there was nobody looking, and tJiat isn't wrong, 
 in any country! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Henri gave me his picture, set 
 around with diamonds, which he had gathered for me, himself, 
 in Brazil. Here it is; you shall see how he looked two years ago. 
 {Takes miniature from her dress, suspended hy a ribbon to her 
 neck. ) 
 
 Kate. Y-^u are wearing that picture, on your brt ast— to-day ? 
 To-day, Julie? 
 
 Julie. I ve worn it there ever since Henri gave it to me. I 
 shall tell him so when he comes back to Paris. He'll be very 
 glad to learn I've always remembered >im. What fun we used 
 to have together. Ha, ha, ha! {Laughing and kissing the picture.) 
 This looks exactly as he did then. 
 
 Kate. I hope Henri Saint-Hilaire will never return to Paris. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 17 
 
 Julie. Ob, yes; he's on his way home, now. 
 
 Kate. Julie! {Earnestly, laying her hand on her arm,.) You 
 must never see him. 
 
 Julie. Why! Ha, ha, ha, ha! What queer notions you 
 American girls do have about everything! {Moving n., up stage.) 
 When I'm a married woman, Henri and I can see each other as 
 often as we like. 
 
 Kate. Julie! Julie! 
 
 [Enter Fonblanque, tip l.] 
 
 FoNB. Ah, Julie, you are here. 
 
 (Enter the Count de Cbebillon, up l. Kate moves down 
 R. Fonblanque crosses to Julie, up stage., l. The Count 
 moves doion l. He and Kate see each other. She starts and 
 looks him, firmly, in the eye. He looks at her, steadily, a 
 moment, then turns atcay.) 
 
 Count, {Aside.) The little American Gorgon that stared me 
 out of countenance, the other day! 
 
 FoNB. Julif, my darling, your mother and T must soon give 
 you up — to one who will care for your happiness hereafter, as we 
 have done till now. Count! {Leading Julie across.) We are 
 giving you, to-day, the treasure of our house and of our hearts. 
 
 Kate. Her husband! 
 
 Count. I trust that I shall be worthy of such a gift. 
 
 {Taking Julie's hand, leaning over it, gracefully, and kiss- 
 ing it. Julie stands before him, with dmcn-cast eyes.) 
 
 Kate. Uncle! 
 
 FoNB. Kate! Pardon me! The Count de Crebillon! Our 
 niece! 
 
 Kate. I wish to speak with you, uncle, on a subject which 
 concerns Julie's happiness — for life. 
 
 FoNB. Your mother has gone to your room, Julie. The Count 
 and I will join you both in the drawing-room. 
 
 (Julie moves up, across n. Looks back.) 
 
 Julie. My happiness — for life! Everybody has something to 
 do with that, except myself. ' [Exit, up R. 
 
 Kate. Alone, if you please. Count! 
 
 ( The Count inclines his head and passes up l. He turns 
 and botes, deeply, to Kate, loho noto bows lotc, in return. Exit 
 Count, wp l. ) 
 
 My dear uncle, I told you that a stranger, on the way from Kouen, 
 made himself offensive to me, by his attention. I did not tell you 
 all. I could not, then. The man insulted me! He was the 
 Count de Crebillon! 
 
 FoNB. Indeed! A most unfortunate coincidence. The Count 
 will be glad, of course, to apologize, both to you and me, for the 
 mistake he made. 
 
 Kate. Apologize — for— his— mistake! 
 
18 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 FoNB. I trust it will be a lesson to you. The mistake was a 
 natural one, A respectable young girl, in France, is not expected 
 to place herself in such a compromising position. You must be 
 more careful in future. As to the Count, himself, believe me, he 
 will treat you, hereafter, with the most profound respect. 
 
 [E.vit, uj) L. 
 
 Kate. A lesson — to me! Such a man as that is considered a 
 proper husband for a young girl — and Julie will sign her marriage 
 contract with the picture of another in her bosom! This is France! 
 My mother's country! But you left it, mother, with the husband 
 your own heart had chosen. Julie! My poor Julie! What must 
 be the end ? 
 
 [Enter VmnB.^, followed hy Henri Saint-Hilaire, up l ] 
 
 Henri. I'll not go into the drawing-room, Pierre. I'll wait here 
 till they are at liberty. {Coming down l. c. Exit Pierre, u}) r. 
 Hetsri sees Kate.) 1 beg your pardon. 
 
 Kate. M. Henri Saint-Hilaire! I recognized you at once. 
 
 Henri. Is it not the little American girl, that 
 
 Kate. Yes, monsieur. I am the same little American girl — 
 {Extending her hand^ franJdi/.)— that you knew at Chateau Fon- 
 blanque, seven years ago. 
 
 Henri. {Taking her hand.) I'm very glad to see you here 
 again. I often think of you, when I am thinking of Julie. I 
 have not seen liev for two years. She is in the drawing-room 
 with the others, I suppose, 
 
 Kate. {Lo 'King down.) Yes! She is there, with the rest. 
 {Then reiising her head., looking straight into his eyes, speaking 
 slowly and distinctly. ) Our little playmate is going to sign her 
 marriage contract, this morning. 
 
 Henri. Ah! {With a gasp, stai^ting back.) Her marriage 
 contract! 
 
 Kate. Oh! I feared it might be a blow to you, Henri; but 
 you ought to know the truth at once. 
 
 Henri. Julie! — to be married to another! It is for this that 
 I have struggled — for this that I have been dreaming of her, in a 
 foreign land — for an end like this. Another's wife! Julie! Julie! 
 
 {Enter Pierre, up r., icith large inkstand and pens. He 
 is folloioed hy an elderly gentleman^ the Solicitor, iDiththe con- 
 tract in his hand. Pierre places the inkstand, etc., on the 
 table. The Solicitor lays the contract on table and opens it. ) 
 
 Solicitor. {To Pierre.) The contract is quite ready. 
 
 (Pierre throws open the double doors at back. Gruests are 
 seen : Ladies and gentlemen in groups. Among them are the 
 Captain, the Due and Dr. Girodet; also M. and Mme. Fon- 
 BLANQUE, Julie and the Count. The Solicitor offers the 
 pen, bovying to the Count, who moves down. A general move- 
 ment dowin through the double doors., the guests forming a 
 background of the picture. The Count takes the pen, turns 
 and bows to Julie; then signs the contract. He then extends 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 19 
 
 the pen to Julie, tcJio moves down and takes it. She sees 
 Henri.) 
 
 Julie, Oli! Henri! {She dro2:)8 the pen and runs down, laugh- 
 ing, hrightly, and extending her hands.) You've come back 
 already. {Henry takes her hand^ eagerly.) I'm very, very glad to 
 see you again. 
 
 Henri. Julie! 
 
 Count. Shall we finish the signing of the marriage contract 
 mademoiselle? {With the pen in 7iis hand.) 
 
 Julie. Eh? Oh, yes, of course! I forgot! Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 {S7ie runs across, takes the pen and is signing the contract as 
 the curtain descends. Henri is looking steadily at Julie. 
 The Count is looking at Henri; IvATE/rom Julie to Henri.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 An Interval op Six Months Bktween Act I. and Act II. 
 
 SCENE — The Chateau Fonblanque. AnotJter ap'irtmcnt, opening 
 upon garden. Perforated windows at hack, similar doors up 
 L., and window doum l., all looking to garden, in which orna- 
 mental lanterns hang among the trees. The right upper corner 
 of the apartment opens ly arches to large room heyohd. Boor, 
 R. 1. Upright piano down l. Chair and small table, l. c. 
 Ottomans, r. c. and l. c. Small escritoire, r. of c, with chair 
 A lamp., lighted, on escritoire is the only light of this apart- 
 ment. Moo7dight over the garden and streaming through the 
 window and door, l., ichile the effect of a dim light in the room 
 is to he secured hy the painting, tlie lamp, etc. J he actual light 
 on the stage should be almost full ; apartment beyond hrillia ntly 
 lighted. 
 
 DISCOVERED. — Kate, sitting at escritoire. She is arranging 
 paper., etc. , as the curtain rises. 
 
 Kate. ( Writing. ) ' ' My own darling papa: I've just spent three 
 mortal hours at the dinner table, and there's a grand reception to 
 follow, at eleven. The gentlemen are still at their cigars. I have 
 run away from the ladies to write you aletter in time for to-morrow's 
 mail, i was trying on all niy lovely new dres&es this alternoon, 
 so I hadn't time to write before. There were sixteen people at 
 dinner — m— m — m — {Continuing, as if gicing words or lines as she 
 writes.) — m — m. Awfully full dress. Ambassadors in court 
 costumes, officials in all their decorations, and military officers in 
 their full uniforms — m — m — m— m. The young English officer I 
 told you about — the one that was visiting here when I first catne 
 — he has come back from England again, and is now living in 
 Paris. He is here to-night, and he sat next to me at dinner. " 
 (Speaks.) He told me that he couldn't stay away from France. 
 It's very curious— I didn't tell him so — but, after he returned to 
 London, I found it aU I could do to keep away from England. 
 (Writes.) "I am dressed in pistache ottoman silk and velvet to 
 match, and" — (Speaks.) — Father won't understand a word of that. 
 (Writes.) "It cost seven hundred dollars." (Speaks.) He'll 
 understand that. I know they're all awfully shocked at my cos- 
 tume to-night, especially by the diamonds. A young girl in 
 France isn"t allowed to wear diamonds at all; but give any Ameri- 
 can girl a pair of solitaire earrings, and look at her ears the next 
 time you meet her — no matter where. They regard me here as a 
 wild, young Indian Princess, anyway. I might as well dress like 
 one and enjoy myself. They ought to be glad I have anything 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 21 
 
 on, except a string of beads arouod my waist. For the last five 
 
 months, since Jalie was married to the Count, and I've been the 
 
 only unmarried girl in the house, aunt has been holding her 
 
 breath all the tin)e to see what I'd do next; an American girl, in 
 
 Paris, is always doing something next, and its always the very 
 
 last thing the people here expect a girl to do. They think a 
 
 young woman ought to be so fresh and "innocent," as*" thev call 
 
 it. Well! I tried as hard as I could to please aunt, at first. I 
 
 haven't any objection to being innocent for a few months, but. 
 
 somehow, I can't understand French innocence; and they can't 
 
 understand my sort of innocence. So now I'm just my own 
 
 American self; and that's all I intend to be. I'll surprise 'em 
 
 i with a war whoop one of these days. {Writes.) "Papa, dear, 
 
 I they cau't make me out, here, at all. Pm shocking everybody 
 
 awfully, and I'm getting worse and worse every dav. Poor, dear 
 
 aunt reminds me of a very dignified elderly hen with one chicken 
 
 I to look after, and that chicken a duck. Mv languages come in 
 
 I very nicely with the foreign swells here. I've been talking 
 
 ; German with a Grand Duke, to-night, and Italian to a Prince; but, 
 
 whatever language I talk iu, I seem to shock people, all the 
 
 ' same." (Speaks.) I verily believe they're astonished to hear me 
 
 I talk any human language. I'll learn Choctaw before I come 
 
 j again, and confine myself to it; that's the only way an American 
 
 girl can keep from shocking people in Europe. As to my other 
 
 accomplislimeuts— Ha, ha, ha!— when I played one of Beethoven's 
 
 sonatas in B H-aI, the other day, that fat Marchioness nearly 
 
 \ cln)ked with astonishment; and I ended it off so suddenly wirh 
 
 I "Yankee Doodle" that she nearly tipped over backwards on the 
 
 I little Spanish Count. If she had, there'd 'a been one less foreign 
 
 I ambassador at dinner today. Ha, ha, ha! For the life of me, I 
 
 I couldn't help telling him, when he complimented me on my playing 
 
 I a classical selection, that I picked it all up in Europe during' the 
 
 last six months, and that New York ladies never played on any- 
 
 ' thing at home but a tom-tom; and they went about bare-footed, 
 
 I except on Sunday, and then they went to church in moccasins' 
 
 I embroidered with beads. (Writes.) "The worst of it is, papa' 
 
 j they believe everything one says about America, and I can't help 
 
 telling them awful fibs. I'd die if I didn't." (Speaks.) I believe 
 
 ^ that nice, old, French Field-Marshal half suspected I wasn't tell- 
 
 j ing him the exact truth, to-night, when he got his wio- twisted 
 
 over his left ear, and I tried to make it pleasant for him by saying 
 
 j that nearly all American gentlemen over thirty years old wore 
 
 ^yigs, because they usually scalped each other before that age. 
 
 j I've often heard lather talk about his best friend being scalped 
 
 right in Wall Street. It would have been all right if I'd stopped 
 
 Uhere, for it didn't surprise him a bit; it seemed to be exactly 
 
 Iwhat he expected Americans to do to each other. To save my 
 life, I couldn't help going on till I thought of something that 
 would surprise him. When I told him that an American kept his 
 eye on the top of his enemy's head every time he met him with 
 (his hat off, and as soon as his hair began to grow thin he scalped 
 him at once before it was too late, the old gentleman did have a 
 
22 ONE OP OUK GIRLS. 
 
 puzzled expression, then. (Writes.) " If anyone ever tells them 
 the truth about some things I've told 'em here, there'll be war 
 between France and America." Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! (Leaning 
 back and lavghing eery heartily. SjJeaks.) If I were in the draw- 
 ing-room, now, with aunt and the other French ladies all looking 
 on me as a young female barbarian, I — I'd be dancing a war-dance 
 among 'em! I know I should! Ha, ha, ha, ha! (Springing to 
 her feet and dancing in a dainty, half imitation of an Indian war- 
 danee, laughing, gaily, af^ she does it. and giving herself tip to the 
 spirit of miscJiief.) Ha, ha, ha, ha! I can imagine the fat Mar- 
 chioness staring at me through her glasses, and poor, dear aunt, 
 resigned to her fate, as a dowager duchess at her elbow remarks: 
 '' A native American custom, I suppose." Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 (Enter Captain G-r^goiiy , from apartment up r., in full Lancer's 
 uniform, evening dress. He stops and looks at her through his 
 single glass. She sees him and stops dancing, suddenly.) 
 
 Oh! Ha, ha, ha, ha! You shall dance, too, Captain. (Runs 
 across to piano and plays "Yankee Doodle,''' with great spirit a.nd 
 full, rattling accompaniment ; stops suddenly arid looks over her 
 shoulder.) Fou're not dancing. Perhaps you prefer a different 
 air. (Plays " Ood Save the Queen,'' singing the last few words of 
 the stanza.) Is that more to your fancy ? 
 
 Captain. I think those two airs go particularly well together. 
 I hope they always will go together, and I never wished so so 
 much, as — as since I found myself a visitor at the same house, six 
 months ago, with an American girl. Miss Kate, in a foreign 
 country. 
 
 Kate. When you left us, Captain, it seemed as though I was 
 further from my own country than ever; and when you came 
 back to live in Paris, the Atlantic Ocean didn't seem half as wide. 
 The only time I ever feel quite at home here is when I see your 
 English face, and when I hear you speak our language, even if 
 you don't speak it exactly as I do. 
 
 Captain. I learned French in Paris, but I never had a chance 
 to acquire the correct English accent in New York. 
 
 Kate. (Rising and crossing, r.) I shall be delighted to teach 
 you how to speak your own language, Captain. (Aside.) And 
 I'll teach him what to say to me in it, too, if I can. 
 
 Captain. (Crossing, l.) I could take lessons from a dear little 
 nose like her's all day. 
 
 Kate. Do I ever shock you, Captain, as I do the rest of them 
 here. 
 
 Captain. Frequently. (She turns, abrutly, drawing up.) I 
 like to be shocked. 
 
 Kate. Oh! 
 
 Captain. Shock me again! It's delightful! 
 
 Kate. I'm just finishing a letter to father. (Sitting at escri- 
 toire, R. C.) 
 
 Captain. I'll stroll into the garden. 
 
 Kate. Don't go, please. I'll be ready to shock you again in a 
 
ONE OF OUR GIELS. 23 
 
 moment. I've only to send my love, and sign my name, and put 
 in tlie postscript. 
 
 Captain. (Aside.) Her love! 
 
 Kate. ( Writing.) " He has just come in, and he looks so nice 
 in his uniform." (Looks over her shovlder at him.) 
 
 Captain. (Aside.) I've been trying to tell that girl I love 
 her for the last three weeks, only they never gave me a chance to 
 be alone with her; and now I a7n alone with her I don't know how 
 to begin. 
 
 Kate. (Writing.) "I love him more and more.'' Oh! 
 stupid! 
 
 Captain. Eh? 
 
 Kate. (Altering a icord.) "I love you more and more — 
 (Writing.) — dear papa." 
 
 Captain. She was thinking of some other fellow. Whoever 
 he is, he can't be stupider than I am. How do fellows talk to 
 girls when they're really in love with them? 
 
 Kate. ( Writing.) " A dozen warm kisses." (Kisses her hand 
 to him, hehind his hack) 
 
 Captain. Miss Kate! (Turning ; she turns hack, just in time 
 to avoid heing caught. ) 
 
 Kate. (Writing.) " For you, papa." 
 
 Captain. I beg your pardon. 
 
 Katk. "Your loving daughter, Kate." (Folds letter., etc.) 
 You were about to say, Captain (Rising.) 
 
 Captain. I was — I was merely going to — to — from the very 
 first moment I saw you. Miss Kate 
 
 Kate. One moment, please. (Returns to escritoire; ojyens 
 letter and icrites.) " Postscript. I feel that something very 
 serious is going to happen to-night, papa." (jto on, Captain. 
 
 Captain. When 1 returned to London, I found I couldn't — 
 I — well — I came back to Paris and took apartments, so that I 
 could be near to— to — and— then I — then I met you again, you 
 know. (Aside.) I wonder what father said to mother when he 
 proposed. 
 
 Kate. (Writing.) "I shall have something very important 
 to tell you in my next letter! " 
 
 Captain. (Aside.) If a fellow could overhear his father, ht^'d 
 know the right thing to say, himself, when his own turn came, 
 because a fellow's father succeeded — of course! 
 
 Kate. Did you ever see the old well, Captain, dowm at the 
 foot of the garden, hidden away among bushes and creepers, 
 where only the moonlight can reach it ? 
 
 Captain. I stumbled on it one morning when I was visiting 
 here. Queer old place. 
 
 Kate. I think I'll stroll down to it now. (Crossing, l. ; stoics 
 at door, in the moonlight. Aside.) I wonder if I shall see his 
 face there, beside mine. (Aloud.) I'm not a bit afraid of going 
 alone, Captain. You — you needn't follow me. 
 
 (Exit into garden, l. The Captain looks after her a 
 moment, then moves up to door.) 
 
24 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Captain. It looks awfully dark out there, beyond the lights, 
 for a girl, alone 
 
 [Enter Jxj'LiE, from apartment, up ii.] 
 
 Julie. Strolling into tlie garden. Captain? 
 Captain. I was going to light another cigar. {Exit to garden.) 
 Julie. {Looking out after him.) Kate is there, too! She has 
 disappeared beyond the rose bush. They are going to the well, 
 together — as — as — Heigh-ho! — as Henri Saint-Hilaire and I did, 
 once. It is years — it seems so many years! — since that night. 
 {Coming doirn; take.s the miniature from her breast.) How little 
 I knew that Henri's face, looking up at me from the water, was 
 engraved so deeply in my heart. I was only a careless young 
 girl, then. I hardly knew I had a heart. Kate can choose for 
 herself. {At casement, down l , looking out, the moonlight falling 
 on her.) She will carry her husband's picture in her breast. We 
 women in France are not allowed to do that. Ah! {She gives a 
 short., quick scream, springing back a few steps. ) A face staring at 
 me — a woman's face! 
 
 {She moves, cautiously, towards the icindow again, peering 
 out. Henri Saint-Hilaire enters, r. front, from apartment. 
 He stops, R., looking at her.) 
 
 It is gone. She was not one of the servants. {Turning.) Henri! 
 
 Henri. 1 have been looking for you — to say good-bye. 
 
 Julie. Yon are going early. 
 
 Henkl I leave France tomorrows 
 
 Julie. What do you mean Henri? 
 
 Henri. I shall return to South America, to continue the studies 
 in which I w^as engaged before 1 hurried home, a few months ago. 
 
 Julie. This is a sudden resolution. 
 
 Henrl No; I made the resolution long ago— but 1 — Heigh-ho! 
 I have not acted upon it. 
 
 Julie. Will you — be gone — long — Henri? 
 
 Henri. If I ever return 
 
 Julie. Ever! 
 
 Henri. It will be many years from now. I shall always think 
 of you as one of my dearest friends, as the little playmate of my 
 boyhood, and it will be pleasant to feel that you are thinking of 
 me in the same way. 
 
 Julie. You — you are going away — perhaps— forever! 
 
 Henri. Yes. I must go. Good-bye. 
 
 {Extends his hand. She extends hers, but withdraws it as it 
 touches his, turning away.) 
 
 Julie To-morrow! And you will leave me alone! Alone? 
 
 Henri. I leave you with your friends; with your parents and 
 {Hesitates.) 
 
 Julie. And — my — husband. I am never so utterly alone as 
 when I am with him. 
 
 Henri. Julie! 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 25 
 
 Julie. Terribly alone! 1 must lead tlie life of solitude now to 
 which I have been condemned by my marriage. I was ignorant 
 of the world— almost ignorant of right and wrong— they call it 
 "innocence" — and I was given to him! I did not think of love. 
 He did not expect it from me, nor care for it. 1 was perfectly 
 contented with that, at first, but I am bound to a man who would 
 despise a woman's heart if she could give it to him; a man so 
 cold, and cynical, and heartless, that I shrink from him almost 
 with terror, whenever he is in my presence. {Sinking upon otto- 
 man, L. c.) A woman cannot live and not love, Henri. You have 
 been near me, too. (Hides face in hands.) 
 
 Henri. We— we ought not to have been near each other. 
 
 Julie. Do not despise me, Henn! Do not despise me! 
 
 Henri. I am despising myself for having been here, to profit 
 by your misery. He is your husband, Julie, and I have no place 
 between you. When I came back to France and found you prom- 
 ised to another, there was but one manly and honorable course 
 before me. I was a coward, and I did not take that course. 1 
 should have returned at once to my work, but 1 remained in 
 Paris. I have allowed myself to be a constant visitor here, as in 
 the old times, when we were children. I — I— have determined to 
 be a coward no longer. I shall leave France to-morrow, (lood- 
 bye. {Extending his hand.) 
 
 Julie. (Tood-bye. 
 
 {Slowly reaching out her hand, hack of her, loithout turning. 
 He takes it, presses it to his own, drops It hy her side and moves 
 hack, still looking at her. 
 
 Alone with him! 
 
 Henhi. I am, indeed, leaving her alone. She shrinks from 
 her husband in terror, now! What has the future in store for 
 her V I shall only live on and suffer, for the memory of my love. 
 But she, tender, and gentle, and weak, is bound to one who will 
 crush her young life out— slowly but surely ! Julie! {Impulsively 
 moving towards her.) I pity you, with my whole heart! {Drop- 
 ping to his knees at the side of the otto7nan, and seizing her hand.) 
 I pity you, my poor girl, I pity you. 
 
 Julie. Henri. 
 
 {He is pressing her hand to his lijjs. Enter the Count, from 
 apartment, vp r., with cigar. He stoj)s, up r. c, and looks 
 at them.) 
 
 Henri. I shall suffer, too, Julie; I shall suffer, too. Fate has 
 been cruel to us both. 
 
 Count. M. Saint-Hilaire! 
 
 (Henri 5^ar^« to his feet, stepping hack, l., and facing the 
 Count. Julie rises and moves to r. c.) 
 
 Henri. Count de Crebillon! 
 
 Count. (Jb Julie, at her side.) Go into the drawing-room at 
 once, and join the other ladies. {SJie retires, step hy step, R., 
 under fear and emotion.) 
 
26 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Julie.. Tlipy will meet! Henri will be killed! {Then, vMh a 
 sudden tliought.) Uncle Francois! I will speak to him. He will 
 prevent it. \_E.vit, R., hy (rpartment. 
 
 Henri. Count! Believe me, your wife is spotless. I had just 
 bade her farewell, intending to leave France to-morrow, forever. 
 My own feelings overcame me at the last moment. She is not 
 responsible for those feelings. 1 need hardly add, however, that 
 I am responsible. 
 
 Count. You have arranged to leave France, to-morrow ? We 
 will settle the matter before morning, if you like. 
 
 Henri. The sooner the better. 
 
 Count. We need not disturb the company. We can arrange 
 the affair quietly between ourselves during the evening. Au 
 revoir, monsieur. 
 
 Henri. Au revoir, Count. 
 
 {The Count strikes a match and is re-lighting his cigar as he 
 gocsout to garden, up l. Enter the Doctor, up r. , from apart- 
 7nent. He watches the Count going, then turns to Uenri.) 
 
 Doctor. Henri! Was it for this that I watched over you in 
 childhood and youth, as if I were your father? 1 saw, with tender 
 interest, your growth in knowledge; 1 have seen you adding new 
 honor to the name which your grandfather made illustrious in 
 science. Have you learned nothing better from kindly nature 
 than to crush a beautiful flower — like Julie? 
 
 Henri. Oh! Doctor Girodet. I should not have been here 
 to-night. I should have tied from temptation many months ago. 
 I have tried to do so over and over again, but the struggle was 
 too great for me. Oh! H" you only knew how I have struggled. 
 I have loved Julie from my boyhood, when she was a little thing 
 that came to my arms as innocently as a bird might rest in my 
 hand. When I saw her again, after a long absence, a girl of 
 seventeen, it was with a nian's heart, and with all it's passion, that 
 I loved her, then! I dreamed of returning and claiming her from 
 her parents. Oh! My friend! My father! You can never know 
 the agony I suffered when I found Julie promised irrevocably to 
 another! {Dropping into chair at table, l. c, his face in his hands. ) 
 She was lost to me, forever! 
 
 Doctor. Yes, Henri! She was lost to you. Whatever you 
 suffered, you should not have forgotton that Julie is bound in 
 honor and truth to another. 
 
 Henri. To such another. {Looking vp, suddenlij, irith clenched 
 fist.) I could have born it as a man should bear the worst, if 
 Julie had been given, in her trusting innocence, to one who might 
 have made her forget that [ existed — in the gentle love of a wife 
 and mother. I cnuld have born even that in my own solitude, for 
 I should have known, at least, that she was not unhappy. But a 
 gambler and a profligate! Notorious in every resort of aristocratic 
 vice in Paris! The very monr^y he has ga'ned with her in pay- 
 ment for his title and his family he is spending among men and 
 women as vicious as himself. He will make Julie more and more 
 
ONE OP OUR GIRLS. 27 
 
 wretclied as years go on. My blood boils like melted iion when I 
 think of it. (Starting to Ids feet.) But 1 can kill him, now — I can 
 kill him! 
 
 Doctor. You have arranged for a meeting ? 
 
 Henri. Yes! 
 
 Doctor. If the Count should not meet you ? 
 
 Henri. He irilU 
 
 Doctor. If he should drop the matter ? 
 
 Henri. He cannot! 
 
 Doctor. I shall try to effect a settlement, Henri. (Henri 
 stands and looks at liim.) For the sake of Julie's good name. 
 
 Henri. Her name! 
 
 Doctor. If you do not hear from the Count before — say, noon, 
 to-morrow — will you promise me to carry out the good resolution 
 which you have so often broken — to leave France, at once? 
 
 Henri. You will tell the Count that I shall wait till noon 
 to morrow to hear from him ? 
 
 Doctor, Trust me, Henri. I shall be as careful of your honor 
 as you could be yourself. 
 
 Henri. I know you will. I — I give you the promise. 
 
 Doctor. Try to forget your sorrows in your profession, Henri. 
 Be a hermit, hereafter, in the modern Keligion of Science 
 
 Henri. My dear, old friend. ( With a warm grasp of the hand. 
 He moves n., pauses at door. Aside.) The Count -2^7?/^ meet me! 
 
 [J^ait, up R., throvgh apartrneut. 
 
 Doctor. If I can prevent this duel, it will be the first time 
 the Count de Crebillon has ever hesitated to meet a man who has 
 once aroused bis passion or offended his honor. It is a curious 
 fact in human nature that men who do most to sully their own 
 honor are always the most sensitive when other people trifle 
 wath it. 
 
 {A long and piercing.^ hut distant, scream from a icoman 
 toitJiout, up L. The Doctor starts, listens and goes to door, 
 vp L., ichere he looks out. He shrugs his shoulders, turning 
 away. Kate runs in from garden, m alarm.) 
 
 Kate. Oh! Doctor! {Going to Mm.) Did you hear that 
 
 scream 
 
 Doctor. Yes. It was startling at first, but I once heard a 
 similar scream in the garden. 
 
 Kate. What was it ? 
 
 Doctor. The footman was kissing one of the maids. (Kate 
 draws back.) If he'd been murdering her, she couldn't have 
 thrown more agony into her voice. When a woman screams, she 
 screams. The girl didn't seem a bit grateful when I rescued her. 
 
 Kate. Captain Gregory has run back to see what it was. 
 
 Doctor. He was in the garden, with you ? 
 
 Kate. Yes. (Looking down.) 
 
 Doctor. I didn't hear ^0?^ scream. I hope the Captain won't 
 meet one of the maids. Some of them are very pretty. 
 
 Kate. But, Doctor, I can't help feeling there was something 
 more in that cry than you imagine. A few moments ago, as I 
 
28 ONE OF OUR GIELS. 
 
 was picking oat the patli among tlie trees, I saw a woman peering 
 into the house. 
 
 Doctor. Indeed ? 
 
 Kate. She was not dressed like a servant, so far as I could tell in 
 the shadow of the tree under which she was standing. A ray of 
 moonlight fell across her face. Our eyes met for a second, and 
 she suddenly disappeared. When 1 heard that scream, just now, 
 Doctor, the picture of that woman's face seemed as clear in my 
 mind as when she was loolcing into my eyes. 
 
 Doctor. What was the face like ? 
 
 Kate. It was pale and thin; a hard, cold face, yet it must 
 have been beautiful once, 
 
 Doctor. Was the figure of that woman 
 
 Kate. Tall and slender. 
 
 [Enter the Count, from garden, tip l.] 
 
 Doctor. Ah! Count! You were in the garden — you heard 
 the voice just now? 
 
 Count. Yet^. I presume it was merely some poor wretch in 
 charge of the police — ( Walking doirn l.) — in the street beyond. 
 
 Kate. Do you think that was it, Doctor ? 
 
 Doctor. I dare say. 
 
 Kate Poor creature! I pity her. {Going up ; then, suddenly, 
 aside.) I must get Pierre to run out and post my letter to father, 
 and ril put in another postscript. I'll ask papa for his consent. 
 I'm quite sure, now, the Captain will propose to me before the 
 next steamer. \_Exit, up Vv., througJi apartments. 
 
 Doctor. Count, you have arranged for a meeting with Henri. 
 
 Count. Yes; to-night. Will you accompany us, Doctor? 1 
 shan't give you much trouble with the boy. I'll only wound him 
 slightly — in the arm or the wrist. 
 
 Doctor. If you and Henri Saint-Hilaire meet, you will not 
 separate until one of you has received a fatal wound. 
 
 Count. Indeed! It is a serious passion with him, then? If 
 tie young man insists, of course, we must carry it through in his 
 own way. {Then, with sinister significance.) Do you think there 
 is any doubt as to irlncJi of us will be wounded fatally ? 
 
 Doctor. Not the slightest doubt. You are one of the coolest, 
 most experienced and most formidable duellists in France; he is 
 a young student of science, whose only knowledge of the weapons 
 you will use is such as every young Frenchman acquires in the 
 ordinary course of his education.- But there is enough blood up- 
 on your soul, already. Count. 
 
 {The Count starts, nervously, looking at the Doctor, then 
 walking up stage. He turns up c , glances out, l,, quickly and 
 nerwudy, walks down L., touching his forehead with his hand- 
 kerchief ) 
 
 Count. What do you mean? 
 
 Doctor. Two men have fallen victims to your unerring skill 
 in the duelling field. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIKLS. 29 
 
 Count. Oh! {With relief.) I am in no humor to-night to 
 talk of these subjects. 
 
 Doctor. M. Saint-Hilaire will wait to hear from you until 
 noon to-morrow. He has given me his promise that if he does not 
 hear from you by that time he will leave France, at once. 
 
 Count. Very well. Settle it as }ou like. I will not challenge 
 him. 
 
 {Exit, R. 1 E. The Doctor looks after him a moment, then 
 walks up L. He looks out to garden ; glances hack at the door, 
 R. 1 E.) 
 
 Doctor. "Merely a poor wretch, in charge of tbe police." 
 The voice did not seem as distant as that, to me. The first 
 Countess de Crebillon committed suicide in the gardens at Monaco, 
 three years ago. She was an adventuress, and a fuguitive from 
 justice at that time. I never saw her, myself, but she was tall 
 and slender and said to be very beautiful. {Looks out a. moment 
 in thought, then glances at the door, r. 1 e.) TIih night air will 
 be refreshing. \^Exit to garden. 
 
 [Enter the Due, R.,/r6>m apartment.] 
 
 Due. I wonder where Miss Kate is? I've been trying to 
 arrange \he matter of our marriage for the last six months. My 
 creditors are getting anxious. 1 don't understand this American 
 way of conducting njatrimonial affairs. Our own way is much 
 simpler. One arranges it all with the girl's parents, and that's 
 the end of it. 
 
 [Enter Kate, up Ti.,fro7n apartment. She runs across, vp stage, 
 looking out, L.] 
 
 Kate. The Captain hadn't returned yet. I begin to think he 
 did meet one of the pretty housemaids. {Turns down; .^tops, 
 suddenly, seeing the Due, icJto is down R.) 
 
 Due. Miss Kate! 
 
 Kate. Due! 
 
 Due. I received another letter from your father this afternoon. 
 I've been looking for you in the drawing roonj. 
 
 Kate. Sit down. 
 
 Due, Here! x\lone? 
 
 Kate. Ye.s! Alone! I wont hurt you. {Sits, L. e.) I'm not 
 afraid of being alone with a gentleman, and my father isn't afraid 
 of having me. {Aside.) If my reputation can't stand that, I'm 
 perfectly willing to lose it, and the first French woman that finds 
 it is welcome to it. I dare say she'll need it. {Aloud.) Sit down. 
 
 Due, Certainly! {Sitting, r. c.) Whenever I say anything to 
 you about our marriage, Miss Kate, you refer me to your father; 
 and when I write to him he seems to forget it for about a month 
 each time, and then he refers me back to you. If we were all on 
 the same side of the ocean we could get on faster. 
 
30 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. When you first fell in love with me, Due, we were 
 three thousand miles apart. I appreciate the compliment very 
 highly. Of course, your interest in me increased very rapidly as 
 the steamer on which I left New York approached the coast of 
 Europe, at the rate of eighteen miles an hour. 
 
 Due. I— 1 don't quite follow you, Miss Kate. 
 
 Kate. Concerning my dowry 
 
 Due. Ah— yes! 
 
 Kate. Now, you do follow me. What do you think your 
 title, including yourself, is worth, cash ! Will two million francs 
 do ? Father will pay you that amount. 
 
 Due. Two million francs! {Rising.) 
 
 Kate. On the day you and I are married. 
 
 Due. My solicitor will draw up the contract at once. 
 
 Kate. Oh! No! {Rising.) We cannot possibly sign the con- 
 tract yet. Due, Being an American lady, I must insist on follow- 
 ing the customs of my own country. Before a marriage contract 
 can be duly ratified, in America, there must be certain preliminary 
 formalities, which propriety there demands. The gentleman is 
 expected to make love to the lady, and to win her heart. 
 
 Due. I'm sure I shall be delighted to pay the most devoted 
 attention to you. Miss Kate. I will make love to you with pleas- 
 ure. {Approaching her and attempting to press her hand. She 
 withdraws it.) 
 
 Kate. Not personally. Due! You misunderstand me. A lady 
 and gentleman, in America, always make love to each other 
 through their lawyers! 
 
 Due. Their— lawyers ? Oh! 
 
 Kate. If you will kindly send me the name and address of 
 your solicitor, I will also engage one, and they will enter into 
 negotiations on the subject; when I am duly advised by my own 
 lawyer that you have won my heart, I will sign the marriage con- 
 tract, but not till then, Due. {Walks up.) 
 
 Due. {Aside ., down R.) What a very remarkable country! 
 There are so many queer things in America. Half the gentlemen 
 in the smoking-room had something extraordinary to tell about 
 America, and they all said Miss Kate told them so. 
 
 Kate. {Looking out. Aside.) The Captain is coming up the 
 path. {Aloud.) I don't think it is best for us to be alone, 
 together, any longer. Due. 
 
 Due. No. I will retire. {Rising; then aside, going.) I won- 
 der how long it takes a lawyer to win a lady's heart? [Krit, ii. 
 
 Kate. Captain Gregory won't need a solicitor! {Looking out; 
 then turns down stage.) He was just going to ask me to be his 
 wife, as we leaned over the curb of the old well, together — his 
 eyes were looking straight up into mine, from the water — when I 
 ran away from him. The word " yes " was so close to my lips, if 
 I hadn't run away, Fd have answered him before he'd asked me 
 the question. And I had just let him catch me again, under the 
 old oak with mistletoe on it, when we were interrupted. Til let 
 him finish the question, now. Ha, ha, ha! A woman in love is 
 like a girl playing kiss-in the-ring; she runs away until she's 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 31 
 
 afraid she won't be cauglit; then she stops. {Dropping on otto- 
 man., n. c.) I've stopped. 
 
 {Folding her hands, demurely, as if limiting. Enter the 
 Captain, up l., from garden. He looks at Kate, then 
 takes a hook from the table, l. c, looks at her again, sits on 
 ottoman, l. c, opens the hook. She looks at him.) 
 
 I hope he hasn't stopped playing kiss-in-the-ring. {Aloud.) 
 What boolc are you looking at, Captain ? 
 
 Captain. {Beading title.) "The Code of Social Etiquette in 
 France, by Mme. la Countesse de Bassonbille." 
 
 Kate. Aunt gave that to me to study. She thought I needed 
 it — badly. 
 
 Captain. Some one has been marking it. {Reads.) "If you 
 desire to wed a young girl " 
 
 Kate, Oh! That is such a curious passage. I marked that 
 double, you see. 
 
 Captain. Oh! It was you! 
 
 Kate. Eh! {Then dropping her head.) Yes, I did it. {Aside.) 
 All the parts marked are about how people get married. 
 
 Captain. {Aside.) I never yet took up a girl's book that 
 everything like that wasn't marked in it. Perhaps this will tell 
 a fellow how the French fellows manage it, when they're in love. 
 It may help me. {Glances at her, then reads aloud.) "If you 
 desire to wed a young girl — {Glances at her again.) — you must get 
 a mutual friead to make the first advance, or you may get the 
 clergyman, or the family lawyer." 
 
 Kate. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Captain. An officer in Her Majesty's service might as well 
 ask the clergyman or a family lawyer to charge a battery for him. 
 But the French way isn't so bad, after all. Miss Kate— (i^m^^. ) 
 — I — I wish I had some one — a lawyer or a clergyman, or some- 
 thing— (^_p^r(>acMAi,<7 her:)—io—Xo say— exactly what I want to 
 say to you. I'm only a soldier, you know. 
 
 Kate. Did you ever read Longfellow's poem, " Miles Stand- 
 ish?" The hero and heroine were alone, together, as you and I 
 are, and she said to him — the hero's name is John 
 
 Captain. The same as mine 
 
 Kate. So it is. 
 
 Captain. What did she say to him ? 
 
 Kate. •*' Why don't you speak for yourself, John! " 
 
 Captain. Eh ? Speak for myself ? 
 
 Kate. That's what the girl in the poem said. 
 
 Captain. Oh! What did that John answer? 
 
 Kate. Oh! Well — he ran away without saying a word. 
 
 Captain Oh! Did he? {Walks away, i.., thinking.) 
 
 Kate. But, Captain, he came back again 
 
 Captain. {Returning to her, quickly.) And he told her he 
 loved her— I'm sure he did! I love you. Miss Kate, with my 
 whole heart. 
 
 {She starts to her feet, turns towards him with her eyes 
 dropped, then extends hoth hands, frankly.) 
 
32 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. And I love you— (//c^ seizes her hands, eagerly.) — too 
 earnestly and too f^incerely to disguise it. I know that you are 
 brave, and good, and true. I am very, very glad you love me. 
 
 Captain. I tried my best not to love you, because I have noth- 
 ing to offer you but a — a sword, and a beart, and a pair of spurs, 
 and a uniform, with nie in it. But I couldn't help loving you! 
 May I write to your father? This very night ? 
 
 Kate. I have written to him. [He stares at her.) I put in 
 another postcript. 
 
 Captain. Oh ! 
 
 Kate. I knew you were going to propose to me, six weeks 
 ago. 
 
 Captain. I wish I'd known it as soon as you did. We'd have 
 saved a lot of time. I must join the regiment sooner than I 
 expected. I —I — I wish we could get married before I go. I'm 
 sorry your father is so far away. 
 
 Kate. I'll send him a cable. (Buns to escritoire. Writes.) 
 "To Robert G. Shipley, Park Avenue, New York. I am going 
 to get married." 
 
 Captain. 1 hope he'll give his consent. 
 
 Kate. Oh! A mere formality like papa's consent can come by 
 mail — (Still 'writing.) — after we are married. I'm only telling him 
 the facts now. (Writes.) "I love him very, very, very much " 
 (Speaks.) Three " verys '" — at forty cents a word; they're worth it! 
 
 [Enter Mme. Fonblanque, up b. She stops, up c. Kate 
 uiites.'] 
 
 " Please send me your blessing and enough money for my trous- 
 seau." 
 
 Mme. F. (r. ) Alone! With a gentleman! 
 
 Kate. There! (Risinr/ and going to him, l. c.) If you'll take 
 that to Brown, Drexel & Shipley, the bankers, to morrow morning, 
 they'll send it for me. 
 
 Captain. I — I would like to give you — just one honest, Eng- 
 lish kiss. 
 
 Kate. You may— and I will kiss vou, because I love you, 
 John! 
 
 (They kiss. Mme. Fonblanque gives a short, sharp, hnrk- 
 Hke scream, drawing up, stiffly. The lovers start and shrink 
 hack a little., left of c ) 
 
 Mme. F. I am utterly astonished, my niece! I am petrified! 
 
 Kate. Captam Gregory has asked me to be his wife. 
 
 Mme. F. And you have allowed him to kiss you. Worse than 
 that, you have kissed him ! 
 
 Kate. We love each other. 
 
 Mme. F. Shocking! 
 
 Kate. Why, aunt, dear, a kiss is the only seal that nature has 
 given us for a marriage contract. Kiss me again, Jack! 
 
 (He kisses her. Mme. Fonblanque dro2:)S into a chair, 
 with a little scream.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 33 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 FIRST TABLEAU. 
 
 SCENE.— 77i6 Chateau FonUanque. x\n other apartment. Corrter 
 of the room, up c. Large opeui' g to a hall, up l. c. Bay 
 icindoio, up r. c. Sunlight on foliage beyond window, with a 
 few rays falling inside. Doors, n. 1 e. and l. 1 e. Ottoman, 
 up c. Arm chair, r. c. Ornamental table, l. c, with chair. 
 
 DISCOVERED.— Julie, standing up c, her head resting, wearily, 
 against the casement of the bay windov\ 
 
 Julie. The very spots of sunshine on the grass seem like 
 shadows this morning. I am growing blind— blind to everything 
 that used to make life beautiful and bright. Life! What is life, 
 to cling to ? What is life, now, that I should fear to lose it ? 
 I dreamed, last night, that I was sleeping, and Henri was plant- 
 ing flowers in the earth above me; I was sleeping so quietly and 
 peacefully. {She reaches up and picks a small branch of leaves 
 falling through the casement from a vine.) He and I planted this 
 vine together. ( Walking down.) I used to scold the gardener if 
 he ever touched it. One day, I overheard the old man say that 
 he feared his little mistress would water that vine with her tears 
 some day. I didn't know what he meant then, but I do, now— I 
 know, now! (In chair, l. c, dropping her head onto her arms on 
 the table, and sobbing.) 
 
 [Enter the Count, r. 1 e. He stops, r., looking at Jier.] 
 
 Count. In tears, madam ? 
 
 (Julie looks up at him, bru.shes her eyes, quickly, and rises.) 
 
 Julie. You have returned to the chateau earlier this morning 
 than usual, monsieur. 
 
 Count. You were weeping because I did not return still 
 sooner. {Crossing to her.) You pny me a very high compliment; 
 the more so as I spend so many of my nights away; and I fre- 
 quently do not return at all the next day. But, now I think of it 
 a second time, it is just possible that your tears have not been 
 flowing for me. Pardon me. 
 
 {He takes her wrist in his left hand, quietly, and is about to 
 take the branch of leaves in his other hand. She struggles, 
 very slightly. He presses her icrist, firmly, looking at her ; 
 then takes the lea res from her fingers, turning away. She 
 starts, as if to take them again, but restrains herself.) 
 
 It is late for the dew to be lingering on the leaves, and yet there 
 are drops upon these. I fear I was flattering myself; perhaps 
 your tears were falling for another. Pray, do not check them on 
 my account, madam. We, all of us, have sad memories; but we 
 
34 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 should feel sadder still to lose tbem. Their roots must be 
 moistened with our tears, now and then. But the autumn is at 
 hand, and every leaf must soon fall — {Picking the leaves off and 
 dropping them to the floor.)— one after another. Memories, too, 
 must fall away, one by one, from our lives. {Turns, R.) I am 
 sorry that I disturbed your thoughts at such a sacred moment. 
 I Came to offer you an apology. I so far forgot myself, last 
 evening, as to interrupt you and M. Henri Saint-Hilaire in one of 
 those emergencies when every considerate husband is expected to 
 be elsewhere. But even the most scrupulous of husbands will 
 make a mistake, now and then, unless he is given fair notice that 
 his presence is undesirable. I trust you will forgive my indis- 
 cretion. There was no intentional breach of etiquette, on my 
 part, I assure yoix. 
 
 Julie. I beg of you, monsieur, to say whatever you have to 
 say to me a,t once. 
 
 COLNT. I will detain you only a moment. At the earnest 
 solicitation of Dr. Girodet, after the incident last evening, 1 con- 
 sented to — to give the young man his life. 
 
 Julie. Dr. Girodet sent me word that the matter had been 
 settled — amicably. 
 
 Count. I claim no merit for my magnanimity, however. M. 
 Saint- Hilaire is to leave France to-day. 
 
 Julie. Yes. 
 
 Count. And I haven't the slightest objection to have a man 
 passionately devoted to my wife — if he is five thousand miles 
 away. Perhaps it would be unreasonable to object to my wife's 
 devotion to him — even to a former lover — at such a distance. 
 But I have one thing to say to you, madame. I have never 
 dreamed, for a moment, that I was the happy possessor of your 
 affections. And, if I remember correctly, 1 have never spoken to 
 you of love. 
 
 Julie. Never. 
 
 Count. Pardon my frankness if I say that I have no interest 
 in that subject. Whatever my faults may be — and I do not pro- 
 fess to be perfect — I am not a hypocrite. 
 
 Julie. You have never deceived me, in that respect. 
 
 Count. But I have an interest, madame— a very serious inter- 
 est—in my honor as a husband — before the world. 'I'hat is in 
 your keeping. I shall protect the name I bear — at all hazards. 
 Whatever blots there may be on our family escutcheon, that of 
 cowardice has never been there. Do not forget that you, also, bear 
 my name. [3nt, up l. 
 
 Julie. His honor as a husband! His name! 1 never should 
 have borne it! Father! Mother! You have given me a greater 
 burden than my poor weak nature can bear. Oh, that my dream 
 last night were true. I long to be asleep — asleep. Why should 
 I not be? {She sees the leaves on the floor ^ picks them up, quicken 
 and nerrously; goes to door.) Henri leaves me to-day — forever! 
 
 [Exit, R. 1 E. 
 
 \_Enter Madam Fonblanque, up l., in elegant morning wrapper.^ 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 35 
 
 Mme F. I have not recovered, yet, from the shock which I 
 receiv.d^last night. If I had seen Julie, herself, kissing a gen- 
 tleman I should have been less bewildered. Julie, at least is a 
 married woman, and has the privilege of deciding upon her'own 
 coursH in matters of that nature. For an unmarried girl to be 
 guilty ot such an action is unpardonable! {Down l. c.) 
 
 [Enter Fonblanque, up l., in mnrning wrapper.] 
 
 S '^^' r. ^'^^.'^ morning, Mathilde. {Kisses her hand. ) 
 
 Mme. h. Good morning, mv husband. 
 
 FONB. I trust you have slept well, after the dinner and the 
 reception last evening. 
 
 Mmr. F. I have been somewhat troubled in my sleep. 
 
 Fonb. I am very sorry. I have passed a restless night, mvself 
 {Moving r.) I can't get it out of my head that we forgot to invite 
 some very important personage, in high position, to our reception 
 It has been quite like a nightmare to me. I feel certain that some 
 calamity has occurred, or is about to do so. And among my letters 
 this morning, I find a note from the Prefect of Police 
 
 Mmr. F. What can the Prefect have to sav to you ? 
 
 FoNB. He requests me to meet him, in a'private room at the 
 Prefecture, at one o'clock to day. 
 
 Mme. F. What can it mean ? 
 
 I FoNB I have been asking myself the same question ever since 
 
 I I opened the note. It is coucUed in the most courteous terms 
 ( possible, of course, to one of mv social position. But it is so par- 
 I ticularly polite. I was (juite startled when I read it. If I had 
 
 committed a murder, the authorities couldn't have treated me 
 with more respectful consideration. It seems tbat Dr Girodet 
 had something to do with the matter; his name is mentioned bv 
 uhe Prefect. 
 
 I Mme. F. Possibly that may explain his verv sudden disappear- 
 ance last evening. I saw nothing of him after about eleven 
 o clock. But I supposed a professional engagement had called 
 him away. 
 
 FoNB. You, also, have been troubled in your sleep, Mathilde ■? 
 
 Mme. F. About our American niece, Phillippe. I have iust 
 sent Pierre to say to her that I wish to see her here. A calamity 
 did occur at the Chateau P'onblanque last night. 
 
 FoNB. You alarm me! 
 
 Mme. F. I don't wonder you had a nightmare. 
 
 FoNB. Relieve my suspense! 
 
 Mme. F. I saw Kaie Sbipley kissing Captain Gregory' 
 
 FoNB. I cannot believe it! 
 
 Mme. F. With my own eyes! 
 
 Fonb. a young girl cannot possiblv kiss a gentleman— in 
 France. 
 
 I Mme. F. She learned how to do it in another country. W^hat 
 IS worse, Phillippe, she told me, to my very face, and in his pres- 
 ^ence, that she loved Captain Gregory. 
 ] Fonb. Mathilde! {Bropjnng into chair, n. c.) 
 
 Mme. F. What is still worse, she's going to marry him! 
 
36 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 FONB. And discard a duke! I can believe anything of tlie girl 
 after that. Poor Victorien ! Our cousin had set his heart upon 
 her fortune — I would say — upon Kate. 
 
 Mme. F. I had looked forward to their marriage with so much 
 pleasure. 
 
 FoNB. I hoped to have given the child my blessing, in the 
 absence of her father. How much is it that the duke owes us, 
 now '! 
 
 Mme. F. Three hundred thousand francs. 
 
 [Enter Kate, r. 1 e. , dressed for the carriage. S7ie is adjusting 
 one glove, the other in her hand. Mme. Fonblanque .sit.^. 
 L. c] 
 
 Kate. Aunt, dear, good morning; uncle! I was dressing to 
 go out when Pierre brought me your message, or I should have 
 come down at once. I am going to make a call, in Paris. Julie 
 has kindly lent me her carriage this morning. What did you 
 wish to say to me, aunt? 
 
 Mme. F. I wish to speak with you. seriously, abotit the very 
 remarkable incident which came under my personal observation 
 last evening. 
 
 Kate. Remarkable, aunt ? A gentleman, whom I love very 
 dearly, proposed to me; I accepted him, and afterwards I kissed 
 him. That is the regular order in which we American girls do 
 those things. The next time I see Captain Gregory I shall do it 
 again. Here. I believe, the lady waits until she is married before 
 she kisses the man she loves, or any other gentleman, 
 
 Fonb. You have so far forgotten your duty to us, your present 
 guardians, as to — to choose a husband for yourself ? 
 
 Kate. Yes, uncle. I have chosen for myself; and I much 
 prefer to kiss the man I love, before marriage, to kissing one I 
 do not love, afterwards. We are very particular about what is 
 proper in a woman. We do not think that even a marriage cere- 
 mony, without love, can make a kiss modest or womanly. I have 
 something serious to say to you, aunt. Do you remember, on the 
 day I first arrived, I said that, if I ever found it impossible to 
 please you, without sacrificii.g my own self-respect, I should 
 cease to* be a visitor at your house? I feel, aunt — and uncle— I 
 am very sorry to say it — but that has come! I have followed 
 the dictates of my own heart; you take a view of what I have 
 done which neither my father nor I can accept; and my self- 
 respect compels me to leave the Chateau Fonblanque. 
 
 Mme. F. I will not say, then, what I had intended, when I sent 
 for you — that it is no longer desirable for you to remain here. 
 
 Kate. Thank you, aunt, for not saying it. I was about to 
 call on the friends from New York, the family I crossed the ocean 
 with; they have returned to Paris. I know they will be glad to 
 have me with them, at their hotel. I will go there, to-morrow, 
 with your permission. 
 
 Fonb. But what may your father 
 
 Kate. Oh! anything I do will suit papa; it always does. 
 Aunt, dear, forgive me for all the trouble I have been to you. I 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 37 
 
 tried, very bard at first, to act as if I wasn't an American girl, for 
 your sake. But I am, aunt, and I couldn't help being one— it— if 
 all tbe armies in Europe surrounded me, witb tbeir bayonets 
 pointed at tbe prettiest bonnet I bave. Ha, ba, ba, ba! Some- 
 times Ive been a very wicked girl, too; but I couldn't belp tbat, 
 eitber. Tbat wasn't because I'm an American girl, aunt. It was 
 just because I'm a girl. No girl can belp tbat- 1 don't care 
 wbere sbe was born; only girls in different countries bave differ- 
 ent ways of being wicked. We American girls bave discovered 
 some new ways; tbat's all. 
 
 Mme. F. You bave acted very wrongly, indeed. 
 
 Kate. Our first trouble of all, aunt, was about a dressing- 
 maid. 
 
 Mme. F. You refused to bave one. 
 
 Kate. I felt tbat sbe would be in tbe way, especially wben I 
 was dressing. 
 
 Mme. F. Sbe sbould bave accompanied you wbenever you 
 walked out, and you would not allow her to do so. 
 
 Kate. I found tbat I didn't care to be responsible for her 
 morals. 
 
 Mme. F. Julie's governess took cbarge of you, at my own 
 request, after Julie Avas married. Madam Rabeau informed me, 
 in less tlian a week, tbat you bad taken cbarge of her. 
 
 Kate. I was compelled to, aunt ; I saw tbat sbe needed care- 
 ful watcbing. Besides, I used to give ber lessons in tbe studies 
 you asked ber to teach me. But still — as I said before — I ham 
 been very wicked. I've told more fibs since I've been in Paris 
 than half a dozen girls ought to tell in the same length of time. 
 I don't tell fibs, at all, in N^^w York, now. But, somehow, when 
 one of us American girls comes to Europe— well, if people mil 
 believe everything one says about things at home, how can any 
 girl that likes fun help telling fibs? Plea=e say to Field-Marshal 
 Corlette, uncle, that he needn't be afraid of going to America for 
 fear of losing all his wigs. 
 
 FONB Wigs? 
 
 Kate. I'm afraid he got an idea from me that it's dangerous 
 to wear hair at all in tbe United States. It isn't dangerous, uncle, 
 except when its natural. And I told the Arch-Duke Contagowskoflf 
 tbat I never saw a dinner party with more than one course until I 
 came to Europe. Tbat isn't true, uncle ; we often have two 
 courses, and once I was at a dinner where they had three. The 
 Prince de Molzrieaux remarked to me, last night, that be hoped 
 some day to go to America and shoot buffaloes. I told him there 
 were plenty in Central Park. That is true. There are two buffa- 
 loes in the Park ; and they ai'^. plenty. But the Prince may bave 
 received a wrong impression. Tbe Spanish Ambassador is a 
 widower, and be doesn't intend to remain so, I believe ; he told 
 me he had heard tbat American gentlemen had an enormous 
 amount of money. I said I didn't know anything about that, but 
 wben a New Y^ork girl wanted some pin money, she telegraphed 
 to her father, and he sent it up in a wagon. Later in the evening 
 he asked me for my father's address. Tell him for me, uncle, 
 
38 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 before he has time to write that I -I was— exaggerating —a little. 
 Papa never sent me anything but a handcart full in all my life. 
 And I told the Marchioness de — the fat Marchioness, aunt — but I 
 haven't time, now, to tell about all the wicked fibs I've told 'em. 
 
 FpNB. You need not take that trouble. Hereafter whatever 
 information our friends may have received about America— — 
 
 Kate. Tell them it isn't true, uncle ; and you may say I did 
 it. I'm nery sorry, indeed, but my health would have broken 
 Jown if I hadn't done it ! 
 
 {Enter Pierre, r. 1 e., a letter in his hand.] 
 
 Pierre. (7o Kate.) A note for you, ma'm'selle, from Madame 
 la Countess. 
 
 Kate. {Taling note.) For me, Pierre ? 
 
 Pierre. Madame asked me to give it to you as she was leaving 
 the chateau, a moment ago. ( Walks up l.) 
 
 Mme. F. Did the Countess say where she was going, Pierre ''. 
 
 Pierre. She did not, madame. 
 
 Kate. She has taken her carriage, of course. 
 
 Pierre. No ma'm'selle. The carriage is still waiting at the 
 door for yourself. [Exit, up l. 
 
 Kate. A note from Julie, for me. {Opening it.) You will 
 pardon me V 
 
 Mme. F. and Fonb. Certainly. 
 
 (Kate glfinces at the vote., starts slightly., catdhes her hreath, 
 hut recovers herself, as if not to arouse their attention.) 
 
 Kate. Julie merely wishes me to make a purchase for her in 
 the Boulevard des Italien. 
 
 Fonb. {Rising.) I will write to your father and tell him how 
 sorry Madame Fonblanque and 1 both are that your visit has come 
 to a conclusion. 
 
 Kate. Thank you, uncle, dear. 
 
 Fonb. {Aside.) 1 really shall miss the girl very much. 1 
 like her. 
 
 {Exit, up Ij. xMme. FoNBLAN(iUE crosses., n. front, tarns.) 
 
 Mme. F. We shall both be deeply grieved, my niece. 
 Kate. I shall be as sorry to leave you, aunt, as you will be to 
 have me leave. 
 
 {E.vitMMK. Fonblanql'e, r. 1 e. Kate returns^ audtienly, 
 to the letter in her ha fid; reads it.) 
 
 "My darling, darling Kate ; I can bear the misery no longer. 
 You are stronger and better than I am, but you — and you only — 
 can understand me. Tell father and mother — oli ! — tell them 
 nothing. My room will be empty. That will be enough for them 
 to know. Julie." She has lied — to the man she loves 1 The 
 carriage is at the door. I will follow her ! 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 39 
 
 {Turning quickly, to go up. Enter the Count, up l. Kate 
 stops, suddeMy.) 
 
 Count ! 
 
 Count. Mademoiselle, you are in haste. 
 
 Kate. {Passing him.) Yes, monsieur, I liave an engagement. 
 
 {Moving up, as he walks doicn. She stops, c, as he crosses^ 
 R., and sees the miniature in his hand dangling hy the ribbon. 
 She speaks, aside. ) 
 
 He has Julie's miniature of Henri in his hand. 
 
 Count. You are looking at this trinket. I just picked it up on 
 the grand staircase. It is a portrait of M. Saint-Hilaire. He 
 may as well take it to South America with him. I will return it 
 to him, in person, with my compliments. 
 
 Kate. {Aside.) Ah ! He will find Julie there. 
 
 Count. {Looking at his watch.) A quarter to twelve ; there is 
 only just time. 
 
 Kate. Pardon me, Count, but — that is my picture. 
 
 <'0UNT. Tours! 
 
 K/vTE. I have been looking for it everywhere. 
 
 Count. A gentleman does not give his portrait, framed in 
 gold and set in diamonds, to a mere friend. 
 
 Kate. I am very glad you have found it. 
 
 Count. M. Saint-Hilaire is fortunate. And Captain Gregory ? 
 Madame Fonblanque informed me, last evening, that you had 
 chosen him as a husband ; I congratulate the Captain, especially 
 on the fact that his rival is going away before your marriage. 
 Husbands are not always so fortunate. Permit me. {Ojf'ering 
 the locket.) 
 
 Kate. {Taking it.) Thank you. 
 
 Count. When M. Saint-Hilaire is gone — you will marry Cap- 
 tain Gregory, of course ; but your heart will be unoccupied. If I 
 could hope 
 
 Kate. You addressed me in a tone like that once before. 
 Count! 
 
 Count. I did ; on the occasion of our first meeting— in the 
 train, near Rouen. But we were total strangers, then. We are 
 not strangers, now. On ttie contrary — I know you perfectly. 
 
 Kate. {Aside.) Oh ! if there was someone near to resent his 
 insolence ! {Aloud.) You say you know me, Count ; know this — 
 I hate you ! [Exit, up u. 
 
 Count. TIa, ha, ha. ha ! That woman would be worth fighting 
 for. I've never quite forgiven the girl for playing the prude with 
 me so successfully, when we first met. She compelled me to 
 apologize to my respected father-in-law, on her account ; and she 
 has been laughing in her sleeve at me all the time ; carrying on 
 her intrigue under my very eyes. M. Saint-Hilaire is general in 
 his attentions. My own wife is merely one among other ladies in 
 the circle of his fancy. I mistook a boy's passing fancy for the 
 serious passion of a man. Dr. Girodet was wrong. The young 
 Lothario would have been quite contented with a slight wound in 
 
40 ONE OF OUK GIRLS. 
 
 his arm, I might arrange a meeting with him, yet. No, I'll keep 
 my word with the Doctor. Besides, it's Captain Gregory's turn 
 now. {Walking, l.. lavghing, lightly.) I'll not interrupt Miss 
 Kate and M. Saint- Hilaire. (St''X>s suddenly, with a chaiige of ex- 
 pression.) Or was the girl lying to me? {Rings hell, sharply.) 
 Was it she who dropped that miniature on the grand staircase ? 
 
 [Enter Pierre, up l.] 
 
 I wish to speak with the Countess. 
 
 Pierre. Madame la Countess left the chateau a few moments 
 ago, monsieur. 
 
 Count. Order the carriage at once. 
 
 Pierre. The carriage is out with 
 
 Count. The coupe, then! Tell the groom I am in haste. 
 
 Pierre. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 {Exit, up L. c. The Count moves to door, r, 1 e.) 
 
 Count. M. Saint-Hilaiie leaves France to-day. I will bid him 
 good-bye! * \_Exit, r. 1 e. 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Second Tableau. 
 
 SCENE. — Apartments in the Rue de Rv'oli. Leirge window at 
 hack, showing Paris heyond. Bay-time. Boors at R. c. and l. 
 c. set at an angle of about 45 degrees, half facing the audience. 
 The door at R. c. well up stage; that at l. c. about 3d entrance. 
 The furniture and ornaments of the room are such as are 
 suitable to a rich, young, French gentleman and scientis'- who 
 has gathered many objects of curiosity and scientific interest in 
 foreign lands Table up c; chair near table. A long, low 
 ottoman or lounge, R. An ottoman doicn l. Buelling rapiers 
 crossed above window, at back, tcith icire masks, j)a(ls, gloves, 
 etc. 
 
 DISCOVERED. — Andre, on step-ladder at hack, getting down the 
 masks, pads, rapiers, etc., from over the window. 
 
 Andre. This is the suddenest move my young master has 
 made yet. At one o'clock this morning, M. Henri wakes me up 
 and says: "Andre ! Have everything ready to leave Paris this 
 afternoon for South America." It never does take us long to 
 start for a place a few thousand miles off. When we left Brazil, 
 seven months ago, M. Henri said: "Andre! We will start for 
 Paris in two hours." Two hours ! — And fifteen boxes of curiosi- 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 41 
 
 ties and scientific rubbish, besides our portmanteaus ! Thank 
 Heaven ! we're going to leave all the scientific rubbish behind 
 this time. But wherever master is, he'll need his fencing tools, 
 of course. A pair of rapiers in a gentleman's room serve to de- 
 fend his honor by implication, so to speak. 
 
 {During the above he has got tJw various articles from the 
 W'lll and desrended, placiny the ladder near door, and the 
 masks, gloves, etc., and one of the rapiers on the table, c. He 
 now stands down c, with one of the rapiers in his hand.) 
 
 His honor ! I'm very glad I haven't any honor to defend. Su- 
 sanne divides her kisses about equally between the barber and 
 me. All right ; she has enough kisses for us both, and some to 
 spare for the baker. But when a lady divides her kisses like that, 
 two of the gentlemen fight about it, and she kisses the third gen- 
 tleman while they're doing it. That's honor. Ha ! 
 
 {Striking a position, suddenli/, l. c, fencing vigorously, with 
 an imaginary foe, his hack to door, r. Enter Henri, r. 
 He stops, looking at Andre, irho coutinxes fencing, stepping 
 back step by step. Henry pats him on the shoulder.) 
 
 Pardon, monsieur ! I was imagining myself a gentleman. 
 
 Henri. Is everything ready ? 
 
 Andre. Everything ; except the rapiers. (Laying the one in 
 his hand on the table, across the other.) You told me to pfet them 
 down, but not to pack them up until you gave me further orders. 
 
 Henri. No I There has been no caller, nor a letter, while 
 I've been out? 
 
 Andhe. Your friend, the English oflflcer, was here, monsieur, 
 
 Henri. Captain Gregory ? 
 
 Andre. He said M. le Docteur Girodet had told him you were 
 going to-day. and he asked me what train you would leave by, 
 as he would like to meet you at the station ; but I could not tell 
 him. 
 
 Heniu. Go to Captain Gregory's apartments, Andre, in the 
 Rae Scribe, and say that I shall be here until two, at least I 
 am sorry I was out when he called. 
 
 Andre. Yes, monsieur. {Going; takc^ ladder over his slonl- 
 der.) What orders shall I leave with the janitor? 
 
 Hknhi. Tell him to send me any note or letter at once. 
 
 Andre. And visitors? 
 
 Henui. He may let them come up. Hurrj back. 
 
 Andre Yes, monsieur. {Going, -r. Ueshi takes up one of the 
 rapiers, at the table.) I'll run around and kiss Susanne good bye. 
 The baker is never there at this hour. 
 
 \E.i'it, R., withst^p-ladder. 
 
 Henri. Not a word from the Count de Crebillon, yet. Dr. 
 Girodet has succeeded. I cannot thank him for his good offices. 
 I might have saved her, or the Count delivered me, from a future 
 that both of us dread to meet. (Puts down the rapier and look.<< 
 at his iratch.) Twelve o'clock. There is no hope, now ; and I 
 
42 ONE OF OUK GIRLS. 
 
 can only keep my promise, and my resolution, broken so often, 
 to leave France. {Dropping upon ottoman, doioi l.) How vivid- 
 ly I remember the day 1 left Paris, two years ago. {Looks up over 
 his shoulder at the door, r.) Come in ! {Listens.) I was mistaken. 
 When I bade her farewell, that day, there seemed to be a look in 
 her eyes which said ; "Come back to me, Henri." I dared not 
 say anything of my hopes, then, for fear that they would vanish, 
 as day-dreams do, when we speak of them to others. {A timid 
 knock at the door, R. Henri rises.) Come in ! 
 
 {Moving forward a step. The door sloicly opens and Julie 
 enters. Henri stops, l. c., looking at her. . She enters, timid- 
 ly, her hand on the side of the door, her eyes dropped. 
 She moves down R. c, her eyes still fixed on the floor, and with 
 faltering steps. She at last glances up at him and moves 
 guickly to the ottoman, falling upon it on her face.) 
 
 Julie. Don't think that I'm a bad, wicked woman, Henri, 
 but I shall die if you leave me with him. I couldn't hel]) coming 
 to you; I couldn't help it. 
 
 Henri. Julie ! 
 
 {Re springs forward, crossing to her; leans over her; hesitates 
 a moment, eager to seize her in his arms, but holding himself 
 hack hy a strong effort of the icill; then forces his hands behind 
 him and moves back a few steps.) 
 
 You— you have fled from your home — to me! 
 
 Julie, What will you think of me — what //nist you think of 
 me? 
 
 Henri. I think — that they have driven you to despair. 
 
 Julie. I have chosen between this and death. 
 
 Henri. 1 am too near despair myself, Julie, to save you. 
 
 Julie. I have taken my choice between a life which I could 
 endure no longer — and your contempt. 
 
 Henri, My — contempt! 
 
 Julie. You can never love me now as you used to. 
 
 Henri. I would not lose, for all the world, Julie, the respect 
 for you which has always been a part of my love. I have wor- 
 shiped at a shrine, and I would not dare to violate its sanctity 
 now. 
 
 Julie. Oh. Henri ! Why have they robbed me of a love like 
 yours? {Rising.) 1 will not rob myself of such a love. I said 
 that I had chosen between your contempt and death. I did not 
 choose rightly. 
 
 Henri. {Standing.) What do you mean ? 
 
 Julie. Since we parted, last night, my thoughts have wavered 
 a thousand times. When I left home, to-day, I did not know 
 where E was going. It was only from a last, sudden, desperate 
 thought that I came to you. When I knocked at your door, the 
 world became darker than it had ever been before. I seemed to 
 be extinguishing the only light that had been left to me. But 
 you do still love me? {Tu.rning to him.) 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 43 
 
 Henri. [Seizing her hand.) Never so mucli as I do now. 
 
 {She kisfieshis hands, 2}((Ssion((teli/, theriyudden/y tears herself 
 away from him and starts iij) toicards door.) 
 
 What will you do ? {He springs after her and detains her.) 
 
 Julie. (Turning and looking at him.) I will take your love 
 
 with me, Henri, to another world, 
 Henri. Julie ! 
 
 [Enter Kate, up r. She ste2)s in, suddenly. The gloM held in 
 her hand, in previous' scene is noic gone.] 
 
 Katk. M. Saint-Hilaire — (Julie walks downij. Hki^^bi' steps 
 R.) — I came here to save my cousin from herself — and from you, 
 monsieur. {Moves doioi to i^hiE.). Julie— my darling ! (Julie 
 turns and huries her face in Kate's bosom.) Come with me, dear ! 
 You must return to your home. Whatever you suffer there, you 
 will find more misery still in leaving it. The carriage is at the 
 door. Come, darling ! 
 
 (^4 knock, firm and decided, at the door., R. Kate and 
 Julie start. Henri turns, quickly, goes to door and places 
 his hand o7i the knob). 
 
 Henri, i Fn a low roice.) In that room for one moment — (Point- 
 ing to door, L.) — until I can dispose of my visitor. 
 
 Kate. Yes. Julie, come ! 
 
 Julie. No! {Draicing up; then, half aside.) I would sacri- 
 fice everything— life itself! — for his love — but — {Aloud) — I do 
 not care for the world, now. Let them come in, whoever it may 
 be. {The knock repeated.) 
 
 Kate. {Glancing, R., then in her ear.) It may be the Count ! 
 
 Julie. I will meet him. {Then, with a sudden thought.) But 
 Henri's life ! Ah ! 
 
 {Site hxirries out at door, l. 1s.m:y. pulls it shut, securex the 
 knob, carefully; she then turns to Henry, quietly.) 
 
 Kate. There, monsieur. It's all right, now. Your visitor 
 may come in. 
 
 Henri. {Advancing towards her.) But you, Miss Kate ! 
 
 Kate. 1? 
 
 Henri. Your own reputation ! 
 
 Kate. Oh! thank you. I forgot /had one to lose, too. {Goipg.) 
 I'm not accustomed to these French situations. 
 
 {Exit at door, l Henri moves to door and throws it open. 
 He starts, .slightly, and steps hack. ) 
 
 Henri. Count de Crebillon! {Inclining his head.) Enter, 
 monsieur. 
 
 {Moves down, across to l. c. Enter the Count. He stands 
 a moment at door, looking at Henri, then turns to close it 
 
44 ONE OF OUK GIKLS. 
 
 lie stoojhs doicn <(Ndj)iclvs up K at k' i^ g/ove from tIu-ef>hold, trith- 
 out.) 
 
 A personal call from you is an unexpected honor. Count. 
 
 Count. I can quite believe that my visit was unexpected, M. 
 Saint-Hilaire. {Glance at taUe.) I see you have weapons at 
 hand; not with any hostile intent, I trust. 
 
 Hknri. I did expect to use them. I supposed that I should 
 have seen your own representative before this time. 
 
 Count. You did not meet Dr. Girodet again, last evening? 
 (W'dking dovm, R.) 
 
 Henri. He was called away, suddenly, I believe. 
 
 Count. You must have wondered that you did not hear from 
 me. I assured the Doctor that I would pass over the little incident 
 that led to a misunderstanding between us. I have apologized to 
 the Countess already. Permit me to apologize to you, also. 
 
 Henri. I am not in the humor for jesting with anyone, much 
 less with you. and upon such a subject. 
 
 C^ount. ' {Looking up, sharply, at him.) You Avill find, M. 
 Saint-Hilaire that I can be in earnest, also — in deadly earnest; I 
 have found a lady's glove upon your threshold. 
 
 Henri. Well, monsieur ? 
 
 Count. And the carriage of the Countess de Crebillon is wait- 
 ing upon the street below — at your door! I will drag my wife 
 from your room, monsieur! 
 
 Henri. Pardon me, Conxii— {Moving to before door, l.) — but 
 you shall not enter my ])rivate apartment. 
 
 Count. With your permission or without it, I will enter that 
 room. 
 
 Henri. Without it, then, monsieur. 
 
 {They face each other a moment, inth set teeth. The Count 
 then moves, quietly, up to the table, takes one of the rapiers and, 
 moves down 'r., facing Henri. Henri steps to the table, takes 
 the other rapier, a?id moves back to the door, faring the Count.) 
 
 Count. Stand aside, monsieur! 
 Henri. You shall not enter! 
 
 {The Count lunges forward, fiercely. Two or three quick 
 2)asses. A scream is heard within the room.) 
 
 Count. Aha, monsieur! 
 
 {He attacks Henri iciih great vigor and angry determina- 
 tion. A knock at door, r. The combat continues. The 
 knock repeated. Enter Captain Gregory.) 
 
 Captain. Fencing, gentlemen? 
 
 {They stop, suddenly, dropping the points of their weapons.) 
 
 Count. {Walking down l.) Monsieur Saint-Hilaire and I are 
 practicing, Captain. 
 
 Captain. Without your masks, or the pads and gloves. It's 
 dangerous sport. Glad I found you in at last, Henri. Thanks 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 45 
 
 for sending round for me, I'm sorry you're going. (Henri t-ing- 
 yers.) I say, old fellow! 
 
 {Sprirtgivg forward and supporiing him. Henri droj^s the 
 rajner. The Captain places him in chair near table,) 
 
 You are wounded ! 
 
 Henri. A little tlirust in the side. Only the point; a mistake. 
 The Count and I — were— so interested — we both forgot ourselves 
 for a moment. 
 
 Captain. (Feeling Henry's side and putting his handkerchief 
 to it.) You Frenchmen find as much amusement in this sort o' 
 thing, I dare say, as we Englishmen do in punching each other's 
 heads. 
 
 Count. I will get something for your wound, monsieur, and 
 you will need water. I can find it in this room, I suppose? {Mov- 
 ing to door, L. c.) 
 
 Henri. Ah! {Trying to spring nj).) 
 
 Captain. {Restraining him.) Hold on, old boy! The wound 
 will be a serious one, if you go on in this way. 
 
 Count. You must avoid excitement, monsieur. 
 
 [Exit at door, l. c. 
 
 Henri. Coward! 
 
 ( With a, quick struggle, releasing himself from the Captain. 
 He snatches up the rapier and springs ioicard the door. The 
 Captain seizes him and forces him hy main strength hack into 
 the chair, holding 7iini firmly as he proceeds.) 
 
 Captain. 1 think I understand the situation; its all in dead 
 earnest, I see. But there shan't be murder on your soul, Henri, 
 so long as I'm a stronger mau than you are; and I'm likely to be 
 for some titne to come. 
 
 {The Captain stands with his hack to r.. as he holds Henri. 
 The Count reappears, u. c, coming in hackicards and haw- 
 ing.) 
 
 Count. Mademoiselle! {Enter Katk, \.. c.) I ask a thousand 
 pardons ! 
 
 Kate. Captain Gregory — here! 
 
 {The Captain tarns a7id sees Kate; falls back a few steps, 
 
 R.) 
 
 Captain. Kate! 
 
 Count. M. Saint-Hilaire! I ask your forgiveness, also, for my 
 intrusion at such a moment. {Putting rapier on table. Aside.) 
 The little American devil — {Walking down R.) — was telling me 
 the truth after all. 
 
 Kate. {Aside.) What must he think of me! But I must play 
 the part to the end — for Julie's sake. 
 
 {Moving a step forward, u. c. Henri rises and stands before 
 the door, l. c. The Count stands down r., tapping o)ie hand 
 with the gloce.) 
 
46 ONE OF OUR GIKLS. 
 
 Count. Ha, La, lia! A pretty little glove! 
 
 Kate. I must have dropped it — after I left the carriage. May 
 I trouljle you for it? 
 
 Count. I am almost tempted to keep it. I envy you, monsieur; 
 or perhaps I ought to envy Captain Gregory. Tlie hand to which 
 this glove belongs has been promised to him in marriage. He 
 will be obliged to share its caresses with other men. 
 
 (An angry start from the Captain, up r. c, hut he re- 
 strains himself. ) 
 
 But, all the same, it is a very pretty hand. 
 
 Kate, (Aside.) I must still endure his insolence. 
 
 Count. If you can so far overcome your English prejudice 
 against duelling, Captain, as to defend your honor against M. 
 Saint-Hilaire, I shall be very glad to act as your second. 
 
 Captain. The relation which I bear to the lady's hand. Count, 
 is my own affair, not yours. 
 
 Count. By all means; I would not intrude for the world. 
 One serious word to you, mademoiselle; you will please not borrow 
 the Countess de Crebillon's carriage, with the family crest on its 
 panels, the next time you have a disreputable intrigue with a gen- 
 tleman. Whatever ideas of propriety may happen to prevail 
 among the ladies of America 
 
 Captain. (Stepping foricard.) Permit me to return Miss 
 Shipley her glove. Count. 
 
 Count, Certainly, Captain! 
 
 (Handing him the glove, loith a hoic. The Captain dra/r.s 
 hack his arm and strikes him violently in the face loith it.) 
 
 Captain'. I have succeeded in overcoming my English preju- 
 dice against duelling, monsieur. 
 
 Count. I am quite at your service, at any time, after you have 
 met M. Saint-Hilaire. He has a prior claim upon your honor. Of 
 course, I cannot meet you, as a gentleman, until you have settled 
 that claim. 
 
 Captain. M. Saint-Hilaire is wounded. 
 
 Count. Ah! I forgot! Whenever you please, Captain. 
 
 Captain. I have orders by telegraph to be in London to-mor- 
 row morning. 
 
 Count. Very well; at once. 
 
 Captain. Thank you. {He turns to Kate, with the glove.) 
 
 Kate. Not — not for me — you must not fight — for me! 
 
 Captain. May I take this with me? 
 
 Kate. (Eagerly.) You still value it ? 
 
 Captain. , May I take it? 
 
 Kate. Yes. (The Captain turns up k.) But you must not 
 risk your life for me ! 
 
 Captain. We have no time to lose. Count. 
 
 (Exit, up E. c. The Count follows him up; turns at door.) 
 
 Count. I go with one of your lovers, mademoiselle, and T leave 
 you alone with the other, I am sorry that I am not a third. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 47 
 
 Kate. Ali! (WitJi a burst of anger.) I Lave had enough 
 insults from you, Count, and from your race. {MoHng toimrds 
 Mm.) I have a protector, now. With all my heart, I hope he 
 will A;t7^ you! 
 
 Count. We shall see! 
 
 {Exit, TX. Kate atnggers with sudden weakness, supporting 
 herself hy chaii\ e. c ) 
 
 Kate. W'hat will be the end! {Then, icith a. sudden thought.) 
 Henri! 
 
 (Henei springs toward her from door, l. c., placing the 
 rapier on table and putting up his arms to suptport her.) 
 
 Not me — not me — I can take care of myself. Julie! She fainted 
 when she heard your swords; I left her on the balcony. 
 
 (Hexri starts toicards door, l. c. Jle stops, bringing one hand 
 to his breast and leavers, on his feet. Kate continues, not 
 seeing him, and looking aicay, k.) 
 
 He still loves me; but, if he fall, his last thought of me will be — 
 what? John! 
 
 (Henri falls backwards, toicards the audience, at full 
 length. She turns.) 
 
 Henri! Henri! 
 
 {Shefcdls to her knees at his side, her hand on his heart.) 
 
 CUKTAIN. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE. — Jlie Chateau Fonblanque. Same scene as that of Act I. 
 The double doors open, showing drawing-room at back,' and the 
 furniture re arranged. The large table up R. icith small chair 
 at the left. Arm-chair at right of table. Arm-chair up l., 
 near mantel. The other pieces of Act /, to taste. 
 
 [Enter the Due de FouciiE-FoNBLANQrE, through drawing-room, 
 his hat in his hand.] 
 
 Due Phillippe is out ! Extraordinary circumstance ! He has 
 taken liis nap at tliis hour, regularly, for the last twenty years. 
 I wonder if he, also, is one of the parties to the duel. Hi's name 
 wasn't mentioned at the Club, though nearly everybody else's was. 
 
 [Enter Mme. Fonblanque, k. 1 e., in elegant wrapptr.] 
 
 Ah ! Mathilde ! 
 
 Mme. F. Victorien ! 
 
 Due. Sorry to disturb you at this hour ; Pierre said you were 
 dressing for the evening; but — do you know anything about the 
 affair this afternoon V 
 
 Mme. F. What "affair ? " 
 
 Due. Ah! You havn't heard of it at all, yet? There are all 
 sorts of rumors at the Club. Somebody has been fighting a duel 
 with somebody else. 
 
 Mme. F. Indeed ' 
 
 Due. Whether anybody killed anybody or not, nobody can find 
 out, but everybody says somebody was killed. The police arrived 
 on the spot just in time to see the carriages drive off, in accordance 
 with their regular instructions. I called at the Count's private 
 apartments, in the city, on the way here, but all I could get out of 
 the janitor was, the physician had left instructions that he wasn't 
 to be disturbed. 
 
 Mme. F. The Count was concerned in it ? 
 
 Due. A gentleman at the Club was looking out of the window, 
 and he saw Dr. Girodet going rapidly by in a carriage, and the 
 Count lay back on the seat with his face very pale. 
 
 Mme. F. Really, Due, I trust that nothing serious has happened 
 to my dear son-in-law, the Count. You have aroused my curiosity. 
 
 Due. So it has mine. Captain Uregory's nam^ has also been 
 mentioned in connection with the affair, but that is evidently an 
 error. A member of the Club told me that one of the other mem- 
 bers had been told by another gentleman that he had just seen 
 the Captain walking, quietly, on the Boulevard. He asked him 
 to join him in a drive to the Bois, but he thanked him, kindly, and 
 said he wished to finish his cigar. M. Saint- Hilaire was one of 
 the principals in the duf^l. 
 
 Mme. F. Henri! {Very earnestly.) 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 49 
 
 Due. Dr. Poncilett was called to attend him. One always gets 
 the latest news at the Club, but it sometimes requires deep thought 
 to understand it. It's very difficult to put this and that together. 
 The Count was wounded with a broad-sword. M. Saint-Hilaire 
 was shot. They were fighting each other. 1 have it all on the 
 highest possible authority. 
 
 Mme. F. I hope Henri's life is not in danger ! 
 
 Due. Let me offer you my sympathy. I have heard that 
 Henri's father and you were deeply in love with each other, before 
 you were married. 
 
 Mme. F. Considerations of family made our union impossible. 
 But — lti-s-h—{LooJdng around.) — M. Fonblanque knows nothing 
 of the circumstance. 
 
 Due. Trust me implicitly, Mathilde. The same individual 
 can hardly expect to monopolize a woman's hand and her fortunes, 
 and also her affections. I'm sure my cousin Phillippe is too well- 
 bred to be so unreasonable. 
 
 [Knfer Fonblanque, v/p n.] 
 
 FoNB. Ah, Cousin Victorien! 
 
 Due. Phillippe, have you heard anything about 
 
 FoNB. It has come to you already, then ? 
 
 Due. I was just telling Mathilde 
 
 FoNB. I dare say every one at the Club is talking about it. 
 The simple truth is this ; it is a mere ordinary case of suicide. 
 
 Due and Mme. F. Suicide ! 
 
 Mme, F. Henri Saint-Hilaire ! 
 
 Due. The Count ! 
 
 FoNB. They have nothing to do with the matter. The Prefect 
 of Police 
 
 Due. I understood the police didn't interfere. 
 
 FoNB. On the contrary, they have the entire matter in charge, 
 and they have managed it with the utmost discretion. 
 
 Due. The duel ! 
 
 FoNB. I received a notice from the Prefect this morning. 
 
 Mme. F. Oh, yes ; what was it, Phillippe? 
 
 Due. It occurred this afternoon. 
 
 FoNB. It occurred last night. 
 
 Due. I — I wonder if we are talking about the same thing. 
 j FoNB. The Prefect was extremely polite to me, and he assured 
 me he was conducting the investigation as a mere matter of 
 I routine formality. There are half-a-dozen similar cases in Paris 
 I every day. In the present instance, the woman 
 
 Du( . Ah ! We hadn't got to the woman, in the Club, yet, but 
 we were all looking for her. 
 
 FoNB. A total stranger took the liberty of committing suicide 
 in the gardens of the Chateau Fonblanque last evening. 
 
 Mme. F. In our own grounds? 
 
 FoNB. The fact was discovered by Dr. Girodet, about half- 
 past ten. He communicated with the police at once. The Prefect 
 is a personal friend of his, and he was considerate enough to con- 
 duct the affair without disturbing us or our guests, Mathilde. It 
 
50 ONE OF OIJK GIRLS. 
 
 was extremely kind on his part. It would have been very em- 
 barrassing, indeed. It annoys me exceedingly as it is. 
 
 Mme. F. Do they know who it was? 
 
 FONB. There was nothing whatever to identify the person, 
 and the Prefect trusts that I shall hear nothing more of the un- 
 fortunate incident. I am sorry it has got to the Club, cousin. 
 
 Due. It hasn't. I was speaking of another matter entirely. 
 
 Mme. F. Victorien was saying that our son-in-law, the 
 Count 
 
 FONB. Oh ! by-the-bye, I rode to the Bois after I left the 
 Prefect. The Marquis *de Polignac leaned over from his car- 
 riage and remarked that he hoped the news he had just heard was 
 not true— that the Count de Crebillon had been seriously wounded 
 in a duel. You can imagine my feelings as a father. After a 
 turn or two more in the Bois, I told the coachman to drive home, 
 at once. 
 
 Due. I believe the Count is seriously wounded. 
 
 FoNB. I wish vou would learn something definite about it. 
 Til go and take my afternoon nap ; it is two hours after my usual 
 time. If anything of special interest transpires, Mathilde, you 
 may have the servant wake me. [Exit, yawning, R. 1 E. 
 
 Mme. F. M. Fonblanque and I are both very anxious about 
 the Count. 
 
 Due. ril drive down to the Club again. 
 
 Mme. F. Do, Victorien. I'll finish my dressing, now. {Going.) 
 Au revoir, cousin. 
 
 Due. Au revoir. [Exit, Mme. Fonblanque, r. 1 e.] I feel 
 anxious about the Count, too, I bought a little mare from him 
 vesterday morning, and yesterday evening he offered to lay me 
 three to one against her the first time I raced her. I'd like to get 
 a few points about her. I hope he isnH seriously wounded. It's 
 very queer, but I never do buy a horse from a man that he doesn't 
 offer me the odds against it. 
 
 {Going up l. Entei' Kate, through drmcing-room, l. She 
 moves in rapidly, coming down r. e., without seeing the Due, 
 who sto2)S, up L. e.) 
 
 Kate. The servants here have heard nothing. Five hours of 
 agony and suspense since he left me to meet the most dangerous 
 duellist in Paris! I could not stay longer with Julie. Perhaps 
 uncle or aunt have {Going, R.) 
 
 Due. Miss Kate. 
 
 Kate. Oh! Can you tell me. Due? Has any news come 
 of 
 
 Due. The duel? 
 
 Kate. Yes ! Captain Gregory ! 
 
 Due. The Captain is severely 
 
 Kate. Wounded ! 
 
 Due. No ! I've got everything mixed up this afternoon; every- 
 body says at the Club that somebody 
 
 Kate. O— h ! 
 
 Due. I was going back to learn something more definite. 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 51 
 
 Kate. Yes — go — by all means — at once ! 
 
 Due. I'll return presently, with the exact facts. [E.rit^ up L. 
 
 Kate, What torture ! I can learn nothing. The Captain has 
 not returned to his apartments. I felt like a mad woman in the 
 street, and everything going on as if his life were not at stake. I 
 have nowhere to turn. {Dropping into the chair up l.) 
 
 [Enter Captain Gregory, loith Pierre, in drawing-room. ] 
 
 Captain. On second thoughts, Pierre 
 
 Kate. Ah ! 
 
 Captain. FU not disturb M, Fonblanque — (Walking dote n li. 
 c ) — if he is taking his afternoon nap. 
 
 Kate. Alive ! — and safe ! 
 
 Captain. I will leave a note. I merely dropped in to pay my 
 respects before leaving for London to-night, and to see Miss 
 Shipley. 
 
 Kate. To see me ! 
 
 Captain. Has she returned to the chateau ? 
 
 Pierre. Ma'm'selle is here, monsieur. 
 ! Captain. Oh ! I beg your pardon. 
 
 Kate. Captain— Gregory ! 
 
 Captain. Will you excuse me one moment, Miss Shipley ? 
 I wish to leave a note with Pierre for M. Fonblanque. 
 
 Kate. Oh — certainly ! (lie sits at table, r. c.) A note ! and I 
 I am absolutely dying to know what's happened. 
 , Captain. {Writing.) " My dear M. Fonblanque : Being com- 
 I pelled to return to London this evening, I dropped in to say good- 
 I bye to Madame Fonblanque and yourself, and to apologize for 
 1 shooting your son in-law. With warm regards to you both, I 
 
 ( remain " It's lucky for me I do remain. The Count is a 
 
 I good shot. 
 
 Kate. (Aside.) I'm choking ! (Aloud.) Captain! 
 ' Captain. One moment. (Addresses it.) Pierre, you may give 
 I this to M. Fonblanque, with my card — (Rising.) — but don't dis- 
 j turb him. [Exit Pierre, up r., with note.] Yes? 
 j Kate. And you are unhurt, thank Heaven ! But I hope you 
 
 have n t killed him. 
 j Captain. I really can't say. 
 
 Kate. He— fell? 
 
 Captain. Yes. 
 
 Kate. He may be dying— now ! 
 
 Captain. Possibly. But I'm under the impression he isn't. 
 
 Kate. You fought with swords ! 
 
 Captain. No. 
 
 Kate. Pistols ! 
 
 Captain. Yes. 
 
 Kate. You met in the field, your seconds gave the word, you 
 fired ! 
 
 Captain. Yes. 
 
 Kate. The Count was wounded — go on ! 
 
 Captain. That's all, 
 
52 ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate. Oh ! you Englishman ! you'd let a woman die gasping 
 for knowledge. Do tell me something about it ! 
 
 Captain. YouVe told me. 
 
 Kate. You have heard nothing since ? 
 
 Captain. No. 
 
 Kate. Oh ! John ! To think that you may have killed 
 a man. 
 
 Captain. I'm sorry to say that I may have killed a number of 
 men, while I was fighting for my country, when I didn't see half 
 a^ much good to be gained by it, though the members of the 
 British Cabinet did. 
 
 Kate. Captain Gregory, you have risked your life, to-day, to 
 defend me from an insult, because I was a woman ; but you found 
 me in a — in a most compromising position. I cannot explain to 
 you why I was there ; but I need not say — that — you are — free — 
 from your obligations to me. 
 
 Captain. Oh ! 
 
 Kate. Of course — our — our engagement is at an end. 
 
 Captain. Ah ! 
 
 Kate. After what has happened, there can be — no further 
 relations — between us, of any kind. 
 
 Captain. M— m. 
 
 Kate. (Aside.) He might show some interest in the subject, 
 even if he does despise me. 
 
 Captain. You were in the private apartment of another 
 gentleman. 
 
 Kate. Yes, I was ; and that ought to excite some kind of 
 emotion in any girl's lover, even if he is an Englishman ! 
 
 Captain. You were there — with the Countess de Crebillon. 
 
 Kate. You know the truth ? 
 
 Captain. I know it now. 
 
 Kate. How? 
 
 Captain. You've just told me. 
 
 Kate. Oh ! 
 
 Captain. I guessed it was the Countess. I've been long 
 enough in France for that, and I thought you wanted the Count 
 out of the way at that particular moment. But I knew one thing 
 absolutely — whoever dt was, i/ou were not there alone, 
 
 Kate. Why did you know that? (Advancing.) 
 
 Captain. (Approaching her, looking full into her eyes and 
 speaking very earnestly.) Because my confidence in you is as 
 strong as my love ! 
 
 Kate. Ah! (Clasping her hands, joyously.) You fought the 
 Count because you believed in me ? 
 
 Captain. I'm too good an Englishman to risk my life for a 
 woman that isn't worth fighting for! 
 
 Katp:. Jack ! (Besting her head on his breast.) 
 
 Captain. You remarked just now that our engagement was at 
 an end. 
 
 Kate. Never ! 'till I'm your wife! 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 53 
 
 {Fondling him, with his head hetween her hand.s^ looking into 
 his face. She suddenly gires a little cry and leads him down 
 hy the left ear., whicJi is tipped irith Hack court plaster.) 
 
 You are wounded ! 
 
 Captain. I forgot to mention that. The Count's bullet took 
 the tip of my ear off. 
 
 Kate You were so near to death as that? My own pet 
 British Lion ! 
 
 s 
 
 {Embracing him, then resting her head on his shoulder. He 
 takes the glove from a pocket.) 
 
 Captain. I've brought this back to you. {Holding it up.) 
 
 Kate. You may keep it now, John. 
 
 Captain. Until the hand that fits it is mine ! 
 
 Kate. My knight ! 
 
 Captain. When I looked at that on the way to the field, I 
 felt, somehow, that the Coant was in danger. 
 
 Kate. The Count! {Drawing back.) Oh, Jack! Jack! I 
 hope you haven't killed him. 
 
 Captain. I hope so, too. 
 
 [Enter the Doctor, in draicing-room, l.] 
 
 Kate. Dr. Girodet ! {The Captain glances up and -walks, l., 
 to mantel.) Now we shall know the worst. I dare not ask him! 
 {Walking up l c.) 
 
 [Enter Fonbi.anque, up r.] 
 
 FoNB. Ah ! Captain, you are still here. The servant has just 
 given me your note and card. 
 
 Captain. I asked him not to disturb you. 
 
 [Enter Mme. Fonblanque, r. 1 e., now in afternoon dress.] 
 
 Mme. F. Captain ! 
 
 Captain. Madame ! 
 
 FoNB. Mathilde, I have just discovered that we omitted to 
 send an invitation, for last evening, to the Austrian Ambassador. 
 
 Mme. F. Is it possible! {Very anxiously.) How very, very 
 unfortunate ! 
 
 Fonb. It has quite broken up my afternoon nap. I couldn't 
 sleep at all. It was you, by the bye, Captain, who had a duel 
 with our son-in-law this afternoon. {Sitting, R. c.) 
 
 Mme. F. The Captain ! {Pleasantly.) Then you can tell us 
 something about it. {Sitting, r.) Do you happen to know the 
 result ? 
 
 Captain. The Count has been under Dr. Girodet's care. {The 
 DocTon advances., c.) 
 
 Fonb. Francois, I trust you can relieve the very painful tension 
 which suspense has produced in the minds of Madame Fonblanque 
 and myself. 
 
 Doctor. When we left you on tlie field, Captain, we drove as 
 rapidly as possible to the Count's apartments in Paris. After 
 
54 ONE OF OUK GIRLS. 
 
 reacliing there, lie fell into a restless slumber. When he awoke. 
 I was standing at his bedside. I told him that he had only a few 
 minutes to live. 
 
 Kate. Oh ! {Sinkiruj into the chair up l. c.) 
 Doctor. The Count turned pale, and he trembled like a 
 frightened girl. The frequently-tested courage of the duellist 
 failed him at that moment. Gamblers are always superstitious, 
 and men who are' most ready to risk their lives ia the field of 
 honor shrink with absolute horror when the Angel of Death 
 hovers over them in the stillness and loneliness of the sick-room. 
 TUese facts in human nature quite agree with a theory of mine in 
 the studv of psvchological phenomena in their relations to the 
 functions of physical life. I once had a prolonged discussion with 
 Professor 
 
 Kate. But— Doctor! 
 
 Doctor. Pardon me. This is a digression, and you, of course, 
 cannot share the interest in the subject which I feel as a scientific 
 man. The Count came more and more under the influence of 
 some secret terror that convulsed his frame. At last he told me 
 to open a small drawer in a cabinet. I did so, and I found a 
 picture there, of a woman. He whispered in my ear that I would 
 find a face like that in the deserted well of the Chateau Fon- 
 blan que. 1 answered him that 1 had already seen it there. While 
 our friends were entering the chateau, last evening, by the carved 
 mahogany doors, the body of a dead woman, an unbidden guest, 
 passed silently out through the little gate in the garden wall. 
 The first Countess de Crebillon had confronted her husband. 
 
 Mme. F. The first Countess ! 
 
 Doctor. She might have confronted a tiger, in the jungles of 
 India, with less danger. The Count has never allowed trifies to 
 stand in the way of his own good fortune. Your daughter, 
 cousin, has never been the Countess de Crebillon. 
 
 Mme. F. Julie ! 
 
 FoNB. Mv daughter ! 
 
 Doctor. The Count did not know until that moment that his 
 wife was still living. They were separated when the official 
 mistake at Monaco occurred, three years ago. It had become her 
 interest to disappear from the world, and she took advantage of 
 the mistake, until her husband's second marriage and his renewed 
 wealth made it to her interest to return to life. 
 
 Kate. Oh! John! John! (Sobbing, in her chair.) 
 
 Doctor. What is it, my dear? 
 
 Kate. The Count ! A "human being's death is upon my— my 
 husband's soul. 
 
 Doctor. Not at all ! The Count will be perfectly well in a 
 week ! 
 
 (Kate, Mme. Fonblanque and M. Fonblanque start to 
 their feet, the Captain starts around, all looking at the Doctor.) 
 
 Kate. You said he had only a few moments to live! 
 Doctor. I told ////// so ; and I am under great obligations to 
 vou, Captain, for giving me an opportunity to act as an amateur 
 
ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 55 
 
 detective. Your bullet went just near enough a vital part for my 
 purpose. But it was quite harmless, I assure you. It is in my 
 waistcoat pocket at the present moment. The Count's written 
 confession is in another pocket. 
 
 Kate. My Jack ! {Moving dovm to C attains, n.) You haven't 
 killed a man, after all. 
 
 Doctor. From a scientific point of view, the experiment was 
 an interestinor one. It illustrates this fact : The unusual activity 
 of the nerve centers in the brain, popularly known as " con- 
 science," can be excited artificially. In other words, there is no 
 actual physical necessity for men to wait till they are dying 
 before repenting of their sins. I shall prepare a report of the 
 caj^e for the Academy of Science. How is your ear, Captain ? 
 
 Captain. Very well, I thank you — what there is left of it. 
 
 FONB. Mathilde, my dear, we must speak to Julie. 
 
 Mme. F. She left the chateau this morning, Phillippe, and 
 she has not returned yet. 
 
 Kate. Julie is at the bedside of the man she loves, uncle; 
 and she can remain there, innocently, now. M. Saint-Hilaire has 
 been very severely wounded. 
 
 FoNB. Henri is wounded, too? 
 
 Mme. F. Henri! 
 
 FoNB. I — I trust he will recover. 
 
 Kate. The physician says that he may, with careful nursing; 
 and Julie will give him that. 
 
 Doctor. Let us hope that he will recover, cousin. Let us 
 hope that you have not robbed a brave young lad of his life, and 
 your own daughter of her happiness, for the sake of the Fon- 
 blanque family. {Returns up R. C.) 
 
 Mme. F. (Aside.) He was your son, Isidore! 
 
 FoNB. {Aside.) Pauline, you were Henri's motlier! {They 
 turn, sloiiiy^ catch eeich othefs eyes^ and draic up. Both sit.) 
 
 [Enter the Due, up l., qvickly.] 
 
 Due. We've got all the facts at the Club, now. Captain 
 Gregory is dead ! 
 
 {General attention. The Due sees the Captain, puts up his 
 glasses, and stares at him.) 
 
 I had it on the highest possible authority! 
 
 Kate. It isn't his ghost, Due. {Turning to the Captain and 
 putting her hand in his.) 
 
 Captain. If it is — {Dropping his arm about her waist.) — It isn't 
 so bad being a ghost. 
 
 Due. I beg your pardon, Miss Kate — but 
 
 Kate. Oh! ' Ha, ha, ha, ha! I forgot all about the — the busi- 
 ness affair— between us. Due. Captain Gregory has been his 
 own solicitor. 
 
 Due, I really don't understand you. 
 
 Doctor. I hope your creditors will wait, Due, until a French- 
 man can understand an Americaa <£ixl. 
 
^^g ONE OF OUR GIRLS. 
 
 Kate T will write to papa. He will find a place for you, if / 
 ask him in one of the railway companies he owns. 
 Due ' A place-for a duke-in a railway company: 
 K^TE I dare say you can marry in New York. A few of our 
 girls a Very few, ifut still a few, are quite willing to pay the 
 
 '%V! %ZlZ^^fo:TiZ^er^ please; perhaps he knows a .irl 
 like that. {Turns up ^. c.) 
 
 lEuter PiEimE, irp l.] 
 
 PrERRE A telegram— for Miss Shipley. 
 
 Kate Oht {Taking it. ExU, Pierre.) A cable dispatch. 
 fromrapa-(Oi>.Va../)-in answer the one you sent tor 
 i« f v^;o.v,f (RpnrJi)ia) "From Robert J. bhipley. t^ iin -n^ e 
 words' Get'ma"rierat once, and bring him to New York." 
 
 Certainly; of course! 
 
 Captain Oh! very well; settle it between you. 
 
 Kate -Who is-he?" 0-h! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I forgot to 
 
 tell him your name. But papa has perfect confidence in niy 
 
 uLmrnt^ I'ye given my attention to matters of this kind^ 
 
 0a hasn't. {Reads.) '< Would ran oyer to wedding, but there 
 
 is a corner in Pennsylyania Central. 
 
 Captain What's a corner ? „ , . , 
 
 KWE rneo,lain all those things to yoa alter we're umrried. 
 (iwA "Have cable,l twenty thousand dollars to bankers m 
 ptris" For my trousseau! Uleaih.) " And placed two hundred 
 fho^and dollars government bonds to .™" .«7<1''^„'';;;- ^"^ 
 wedding present! Dear papa! That s a pan of the corner. 
 
 k"te ""some'Mks'think so, and some don't. I can't make 
 oufthisword (V.<4.,.) "B-l.-; (r/« C'APT.UK cross., to !>er. 
 
 %^)jr ?2i^t;-r/r'.;-«.M«'.) «„ it is! («,«*.) 
 
 "Blessing. Prepaid." 
 
 Doctor Very liberally prepaid. 
 
 Due I hope some New York father will bless me. 
 
 (Uptatw Fo'/ shall be my blessing! 
 
 kJpf ihopeso .Tack! My mother has given me her blessing, 
 too foiI-1 am sure-it was she that chose you for- my husband. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
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