An Original Play 
 
 in Four Acts by 
 
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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
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 ENDOWED BY THE 
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This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 DATE 
 
 DUE RET ' 
 
 DATE 
 
 DUE RET ‘ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Children of Destiny 
 
 A Play in Four Acts 
 
 BY 
 
 SYDNEY ROSENFELD 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright 1910, by 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
 This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all re- 
 quirements^of which have been complied with. In its pres¬ 
 ent printed form it is dedicated to the reading public only, 
 and no performance of it may be given without the written 
 permission of Mr. Henry B. Harris, owner of the acting 
 rights, who may be addressed at the Hudson Theater, N. Y. 
 
 The subjoined is an extract from the law relating to copy¬ 
 right. 
 
 Sec. 4966. Any person publicly performing or represent¬ 
 ing any dramatic or musical composition for which a copy¬ 
 right has been obtained, without the consent of the pro¬ 
 prietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs 
 or assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, such dam¬ 
 ages in all cases to be assessed at such sum not less than 
 $100.00 for the first and $50.00 for every subsequent per¬ 
 formance, as to the court shall appear to be just. 
 
 If the unlawful performance and representation be willful 
 and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of 
 a misdemeanor and upon conviction be imprisoned for a 
 period not exceeding one year. 
 
 SPECIAL NOTE. 
 
 To protect the British Copyright, the first public performance of 
 this play was given at the Globe Theatre, London, England, on the Sev¬ 
 enteenth of February, 1910. 
 
To that unusual combination—a manager and a friend 
 
 Mr. Henry B. Harris, 
 this play is gratefully inscribed by 
 
 The Author. 
 
Characters. [In the order in which they appear.] 
 Mrs. Richard Hamlin. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Laura —her daughter. 
 
 Rose Hamlin. 
 
 Maid. 
 
 The Count di Varesi. 
 
 Fred Garvin. 
 
 Walter Hobart. 
 
 V 
 
 Edwin Ford. 
 
 Julius Langhorn. 
 
 Waiter. 
 
 SCENES: 
 
 Act I. Boudoir of Mrs. Hamlin, Washington, D. C. 
 [One year elapses.] 
 
 Act II. Cafe des Americains, Nice, France. 
 
 Act III. “Rosamond’s Bower,” Monte Carlo. [Night of 
 the same day.] 
 
 Act IV. Hobart’s apartments at the hotel in Monte 
 Carlo. [The next morning.] 
 
Children of Destiny 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE. The boudoir of Mrs. Hamlin, Washington 
 D. C. 
 
 DISCOVER ; Mrs. Hamlin, Mrs. Winfield-Chase, 
 and her daughter Laura. 
 
 They are sipping tea. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And how long do you expect to be abroad? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 It rests largely with Laura. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 That’s a habit mother has fallen into. She always says, 
 “It rests largely with Laura,” when Laura has no voice in 
 the matter, at all. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Reprovingly.] Now, you know your happiness is the 
 first consideration. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 That’s very dear of you, mother, but my happiness 
 
 5 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 doesn’t require a trip abroad, at all. I should be quite 
 happy to remain at home in Washington. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 We won’t go over that ground again. [To Mrs. Ham¬ 
 lin.] We are to meet some very pleasant acquaintances 
 at Nice, and we purpose doing the Riviera together. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 How delightful! And you sail on Saturday ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Then that little romance of Laura’s has not 
 a questioning glance at Laura.] 
 
 [With 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Oh, Laura has her own ideas of her career. [Changing 
 the subject.] It must be a great comfort to you to feel that 
 your daughter has got beyond the stage of conjecture. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Yes, it is. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 And has the date been set yet, for her marriage? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Some time in the early autumn. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With enthusiasm.] Now there’s a man worth losing 
 one’s heart to. Fred Garvin has position—distinction—and, 
 
 in fact- Oh! Here you are! 
 
 [Enter Rose.] 
 
 6 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Kisses Laura and greets the others.] I am sorry to 
 have kept you waiting. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 We were talking of Fred Garvin—you were just in time. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Bashfidly.] Oh! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Going to her and taking her hand.] You ought to be a 
 very happy girl. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I am. Almost too happy. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Can one be too happy? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I sometimes think my nature is too intense. I have 
 such floods of delight over little things that I can’t be nor¬ 
 mal. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Laughingly.] You wouldn’t call Fred Garvin a little 
 thing ? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Hardly. So you can imagine how I can be too happy 
 over the greater ones. I am wondering whether it can be 
 right for any one to be so completely absorbed in another 
 as I am in that dear boy. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Consolingly.] Don’t be alarmed about that symptom. 
 I have heard engaged girls talk before. 
 
 7 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But Rose is right, to a certain degree. She is too much 
 of an extremist. There seems to be no middle distance 
 for her. She is always either way up—or way down. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Affecting wisdom.] The neurotic temperament, I be¬ 
 lieve the doctors call it. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a smile.] Aren’t they clever—these doctors—to 
 have a name for everything. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [To Mrs. Hamlin.] I hope you won’t forget, when 
 the happy day comes, that it was through me you met Fred 
 Garvin. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Indeed I shall not. I do hope you will be back in time 
 for the wedding. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 That will rest largely with- 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Quickly.] No, it won’t —I mean to come home for it. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Reminded.] Why—sure enough—you’re going abroad. 
 
 On Saturday. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 So soon! Then you will miss the Embassy Ball! 
 
 8 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 We’ve had all the social functions we need this winter. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And besides, we’ve met the star attraction in private— 
 we don’t have to wait over for him. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 The “star” attraction? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Laura means the new Italian attache. One of those 
 handsome, middle-aged, mysterious creatures, who is set¬ 
 ting all the managing mammas agog with excitement. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Who is he? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 The Count [trying to think of his name] di—di- 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Supplying iV.] Di Varesi. 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin gives an involuntary start.] 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Haven’t you met him? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Almost inaudibly.] No. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 That’s strange. I mentioned your name to him casually, 
 and he spoke charmingly of you; as though you were old 
 acquaintances. But one can never tell from these for¬ 
 eigners. 
 
 9 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Recovering herself.] The name sounds familiar. A 
 number of years ago—in Rome—I think I did meet a di Va- 
 resi. It would be singular if it were the same man. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Lightly.] It is—no doubt. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Affectionately nestling near Rose.] I shall miss you 
 dreadfully. There is no one who quite fills your place 
 with me, Rose. You are really the most sympathetic crea¬ 
 ture I ever met—you just overflow with kindness. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Smiling.] Not always. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Always. Why, everybody loves you. Rose. Even those 
 that I don’t care for commend themselves to me for their 
 love of you. There is something about you—I don’t quite 
 know how to put it—so much deeper, more ardent, than the 
 usual American girl. Why, when I think I shall have to 
 manage without you for one whole year- [Puts hand¬ 
 
 kerchief to her eyes.] Isn’t it silly of me! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 It’s your own sweet nature that finds the goodness in 
 others. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Fudge! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I am just happy, dear, that’s all. I have so much happi¬ 
 ness that some of it must overflow. 
 
 TO 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTTNY. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With comic severity. ] Well, you can just tell Fred 
 Garvin from me, that if he doesn’t make you the best hus¬ 
 band that ever drew the breath of life, he’ll have me in 
 his hair before he can turn round. [With a comic after - 
 thought.] I hope he doesn’t wear a toupee. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Laughs.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And tell him, too—he wants to let up on his work. He’s 
 overdoing it. It’s all very well to be one of the most pros¬ 
 perous lawyers in the District of Columbia, but he’s get¬ 
 ting too pale for a fiance. That’s my opinion. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Who has been conversing in an undertone with Mrs. 
 Hamlin.] Well, Laura, are you regulating the universe, 
 as usual ? It’s time we were going. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Oh, must you go ? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Oh, well, mother has made out a list of her conges. I 
 don’t see the sense of paying farewell visits to people who 
 wouldn’t miss you if they never saw you again. 
 
 [Telephone bell rings in an adjoining room.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Will you pardon me? [Goes off to telephone.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You’ll answer my letters, won’t you, dear—I mean to 
 write to you every week. 
 
 ii 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Surely. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And don’t forget what I told you to tell Mr. Fred Gar¬ 
 vin. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Laughing.] No, indeed! 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin returns from telephone.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Excuse domestic details—but [to Rose] Mr. Garvin sends 
 word he will be here at four o’clock, and you must be sure 
 to be at home. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He’s leaving his office early. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 That’s a step in the right direction. I was telling Rose, 
 Fred was getting pale from overwork. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 He says [with mock gravity] it’s a matter of business. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Laughing.] We know these matters of business be¬ 
 tween sweethearts. He wishes to tell his devotion in a 
 different key. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With a sigh.] Well, good bye! [She kisses Mrs. 
 Hamlin, then goes to Rose, and kisses her affectionately. 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase makes her adieux to Mrs. Hamlin 
 and Rose.] 
 
 12 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY, 
 
 [Servant ENTERS with a card, and goes to Mrs. 
 Hamlin.] 
 
 [The visitors, escorted by Rose, leave the room.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Suppresses an exclamation as she reads the name on the 
 card.] In the parlor? 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 In a few moments—up here. 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Yes, ma’am. [EXIT.] 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin, quite disturbed, seems irresolute—then 
 looks at herself in the glass, and determines to improve 
 her appearance, for which purpose she withdraws a mo¬ 
 ment into the adjoining room.] 
 
 [The Count di Varesi is ushered in by the servant. He 
 is a handsome, well-groomed man of fifty. He speaks 
 without any dialect, but with a slightly foreign intonation.] 
 
 Count. 
 
 Thank you. 
 
 [He looks about the place in a vague sort of way, then 
 finds a photograph of Rose on the mantelpiece, which he 
 holds up and regards with interest, as Rose ENTERS 
 gaily, expecting to find her mother.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I beg your pardon. 
 
 [She starts to go into her mother's room. The Count 
 has bowed to her, mentally comparing her zvith the photo - 
 
 13 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 graph. On the threshold of the room Mrs. Hamlin joins 
 Rose, and returns with her into the sitting room.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 The Count di Varesi! [Greeting him.] 
 
 Count. 
 
 [With great courtesy.] Madame! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Permit me to present my daughter, Rose. 
 
 Count. 
 
 [Takes Rose’s hand, and holds it.] Your daughter? 
 Charmed! [As he releases her hand.] Your mother and 
 I are old friends. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Trying to he at ease.] Yes—and as such we may have 
 many confidences to exchange. Rose—don’t forget, four 
 o’clock. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No, mother. [With a bow, and a look of puzzled inter¬ 
 est, she goes out centre.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And to what am I indebted for the honor of this visit, 
 after so many years? [They are seated.] 
 
 Count. 
 
 Your husband is still living? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Yes—if one can call it living. The doctors are constantly 
 prescribing new climates for him. He is now in Arizona. 
 
 14 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 They give me little hope. At his time of life—ah—you 
 see, one can battle against everything but Time. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Time, the Conqueror. And yet, Time has dealt kindly 
 with you. The same amber light in the hair—the same 
 liquid fire in those wonderful eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Protesting.] Please- 
 
 Count. 
 
 Nature has been very gracious to reproduce herself in 
 that girl. She, too, has her mother’s charm. I noticed this 
 
 at a glance. Ah, there is some happiness in recalling the 
 past, after all! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And much misery. 
 
 Count. 
 
 _ More happiness than misery. At least, I mean to in¬ 
 sist on the happiness. That is why I have come here. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 To insist—do you say? You still cling to that word? 
 
 Count. 
 
 I wish you had not sent Rose away so soon. I should 
 have liked to study her a moment longer at close range. 
 Your daughter! The desire is only natural—eh ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 My daughter. Yes. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Perhaps—the wish being father to the thought—I should 
 
 15 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 have caught a glimpse of myself. We are but vain crea¬ 
 tures, the best of us—and it would have gladdened my 
 vanity to have caught even one flash of the eye that I 
 should have recognized as mine! Ah—she is beautiful— 
 our daughter! 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin rises suddenly, and flashes an angry look 
 upon him.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With growing intensity.] What does this mean? It 
 cannot be that, after all these years of silence, you have 
 come to bring home to me the folly of those days in Rome. 
 
 Count. 
 
 [Calmly.] Let me remind you that I wish to recall only 
 the happiness of the past. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Then why have you come? 
 
 Count. 
 
 All in good time. Let me indulge myself for one brief 
 moment in the luxury of retrospect. You will credit me 
 with some forbearance, possibly a little heroism—in hav¬ 
 ing kept away from you all these years—when I tell you 
 that even at this moment, the wonderful joy of being the 
 father of that girl is almost overpowering me. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You have not come to reveal yourself to her? 
 
 Count. 
 
 [After a steady look into her eyes.] No. [She gives a 
 sigh of relief.] Nor have I come to awaken a single re¬ 
 gret in your heart for all that has been. 
 
 16 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 My regrets need no awakening. They have been my 
 vigilant sentinels through the weary, weary years. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Come now, Isabelle—that is morbid. You are a happy 
 mother, a distinguished woman, moving in the sunlight of 
 fine friends. It would be a pity if your nature were not 
 
 broad enough to hold a little twilight corner in peace__ 
 
 sacred to a hidden memory. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You are still a dreamer. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Yes—I come from a land where we not only dream 
 dreams; we live them. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But this is a practical, work-a-day world, where dreams 
 vanish. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Not so. One page of my life was flooded with gold, 
 and to that page I have ever turned and returned. I have 
 read it over and over again, under the same glittering stars, 
 to the strains of the same music, to all the glory of the 
 night and heaven. I have never forgotten you, and I 
 shall never forget you. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Why do you tell me this now? 
 
 Count. 
 
 It was a mockery of fate that you were married. And 
 
 17 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 in a loveless union with a man many years older than your¬ 
 self. Love comes unbidden and takes no heed of circum¬ 
 stance. Maid, wife, or widow, I should have loved you 
 still the same. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But the sin! 
 
 Count. 
 
 I have never called it so. You chose to remain in your 
 husband’s house. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 It was my duty. 
 
 Count. 
 
 There again we differed. But you did remain, because in 
 his old age you said he needed you. We parted. You said 
 you would forget. I should never hear from you again. 
 W e ll—you kept your word, but I did hear of you—when 
 Rose was born. [With great elation .] My daughter! The 
 fever to come and claim her was almost stronger than I 
 could bear! But I did not come! The death of my father 
 brought me into large possessions. But what were riches 
 to me, feeling as I did that they should be shared by an¬ 
 other. When the appointment in the embassy came to me, 
 I accepted it eagerly. I determined to carry out a plan I 
 had long formed for the use of my fortune. This very 
 day I have put that plan into execution—and it is mainly 
 to tell you of it that I am here. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I fear this may be another act of folly in your too ro- 
 mantic life. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Listen, and you shall see that there is a practical side 
 
 18 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 to my romance. [After a slight pause.] I wished my 
 fortune to go to your—to our daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Impossible! 
 
 Count. 
 
 It did seem hard to contrive at first. Of course at my 
 death I might bequeath it. But, in the first place, why 
 should I wait? In the next place, it would make talk if 
 a strange Italian nobleman left his fortune to your daugh¬ 
 ter. Scandal is too easily roused—even if—looking at the 
 thing practically—there might not be a contest of the will. 
 I took legal advice. I consulted the most prominent law 
 firm in Washington. They advised me to avoid complica¬ 
 tions by giving away my fortune before my death. I have 
 to-day signed a deed of gift making Rose Hamlin the sole 
 beneficiary. She will receive, as a birthday gift, the sum 
 of two million florins. 
 
 Rose! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Count. 
 
 It was all very simple. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But what did the lawyers say? What could they think? 
 What reason did you give for wishing to do this thing? 
 
 Count. 
 
 I was not called upon for reasons. But even if I had 
 been—the lawyer’s office and the confessional have one 
 thing in common—the sacredness of confidence. 
 
 19 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With vague misgiving.] No—no—it isn’t right. 
 
 Count. 
 
 And why? Did I not have the right to purchase this 
 happiness? I feel that, at least, is owing for all my years 
 of forbearance. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Still until the same dread.] What have you done! 
 
 Count. 
 
 I cannot understand your tone of dread. Surely you do 
 not fear that I shall ever betray the secret! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No. I know you too well for that. The betrayal will 
 never come from you. But I have a strange premonition 
 that this will bring no good. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Nonsense. [Lightly.] I know those premonitions of 
 old. [Changing the subject.] I should love to say good 
 bye to Rose. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Not yet. [Comes back to the subject.] Who were the 
 lawyers ? 
 
 Count. 
 
 A firm, recommended to me, by the way, by some friends 
 of yours, the Winfield-Chases. You know Mrs. Winfield- 
 Chase. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Of course. Of course. What was the firm? 
 
 20 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Hargraves. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 Did you consult Mr. Hargraves? 
 
 Count. 
 
 No. He handed me over to his junior partner, who 
 seemed to be a specialist on wills and bequests. 
 
 Mr. Fred Garvin? 
 You know him ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 Count. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 [Seems struck dumb.] 
 
 Count. 
 
 [After a puzzled silence.] Why, what is the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With self-control.] Oh, nothing. You must go—you 
 must leave me to work out this problem by myself. I 
 feared the practical side of your romance. My worst fears 
 are realized. [Rising.] We will talk no further of this 
 now, but before you close your eyes to-night, pray —pray 
 as you never prayed before, that no harm may come of 
 this. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Won’t you explain? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No—in a week—in a month, perhaps—there may be 
 more to say, though if your prayers are heard there will 
 not be—but until then—good bye. 
 
 21 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Count. 
 
 And you do not wish me to wait and see-? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No—no- [Extending her hand.] Good bye! 
 
 Count. 
 
 [Taking her hand, and kissing it with deep feeling .] 
 Good bye. [As he goes to the door he encounters Rose 
 entering.] Good bye, Miss Rose—or perhaps—au revoir. 
 [He speaks in a gentle, winning tone, and holding her hand, 
 gazes deeply at her.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Simply.] Au revoir. [Releases her hand.] 
 
 [He bows and goes off.] 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin, overcome and limp, sits broodingly, as 
 Rose hurries down to her.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Gaily.] Mother, it’s four o’clock. Do you think I’d 
 better dress for a motor ride? That’s no doubt what Fred 
 is coming so early for. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No, I think not. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With concern.] What is the matter, mother? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I am not very well. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 What has happened? 
 
 22 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Evasively.] I have heard bad news from old friends 
 through the Count. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He might have spared you any bad news. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Not everybody is so considerate. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Perhaps I might lighten the burden for you. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [As if coming to a sudden resolve.) Rose—sit down—I 
 want to speak with you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Eagerly seizing a footstool, and seating herself at her 
 mothers feet.) Yes, mother. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I am thinking that when Mr. Garvin comes, you'd bet¬ 
 ter send him to me. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes? Why? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Why should he trouble your dear head with business? 
 I am a little disappointed in Mr. Garvin for wishing to do 
 so. It was not thoughtful of him. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Oh, I wouldn’t say that. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 The more I think of it, the more I disapprove. I have 
 
 23 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 noticed on several occasions that he shows a domineering 
 way—a sort of “possession” in his manner towards you, 
 that strikes me, to say the least, as premature. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Trying to smile it off.) Why, that’s what a young girl 
 loves!—that is, from the man she means to marry. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 He sends word in a peremptory way, “I shall be up at 
 four,” as if he were giving orders to his valet. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Growing distressed.) I never heard you speak like that 
 before. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I want you to be happy. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Happy? Mother! I could not imagine any happiness 
 without him. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With growing alarm.) Don’t say that! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Infected by her alarm.) Why not, mother? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No one has the right to make her life’s happiness abso¬ 
 lutely dependent upon another. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Not upon her future husband? 
 
 24 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You are not married to him. If my soberer judgment 
 discovers his faults, it is my duty to point them out to you 
 before it is too late. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You have heard something to his discredit. It’s a slan¬ 
 der. That foreign Count has said something to prejudice 
 you against him. [In a tone of reproach .] And you lis¬ 
 tened to him. [With intense elation .] Why, if the whole 
 world rose up against him, he himself would be his own 
 answer. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You are too emotional, my child—there is a vein of medi¬ 
 aeval romance in your nature that I am unable to acc- 
 
 [She stops short as its origin flashes through her mind, 
 and finishes under her breath ] that surprises me. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Oh, mother, it hurts me to hear you say that. If I am 
 ardent, and loving and passionate, am I not your daugh¬ 
 ter? [With her arms about her mother’s neck.] Haven’t 
 you given me the nature I have? Hasn’t love been my 
 birthright ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Taking her in her arms.] My darling Rose—I only 
 want to school you, as I would school myself, against a 
 disappointment. Now answer me calmly. What if you 
 should learn that Mr. Garvin is not all that he should be? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That is not possible. * 
 
 25 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Heaven grant that what I feel may be only my foolish 
 fancy. I only wished to probe your feelings, so that, should 
 the unforeseen occur, you could meet it not wholly unpre¬ 
 pared. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With growing intensity, almost to the point of violence.] 
 I should be wholly unprepared. No misgiving—no foolish 
 fancy could alter my feelings. You must understand me, 
 mother. If anything came between Fred and me I should 
 not wish to live. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Aghast.] Rose! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Continuing, in a torrent of emotion.] I am not like 
 other girls, mother—I sometimes tremble at myself. I have 
 thanked God that the current of my life has flowed as it 
 has, towards all that was good and beautiful. That same 
 current might have turned in other ways, and then all the 
 ardor, all the depth, all the intensity, might mean wreck 
 and desolation. Oh, I know myself, and I am afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [After a moment of restless anguish.] Rose! My Rose! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I don’t know what Love may mean to others. No book 
 knowledge can define it for me. If I were a man, I sup¬ 
 pose his spirit of possession might come nearer explaining 
 it than anything else. But, mother—I am almost ashamed 
 to own, I have that same spirit of possession—it rises and 
 rises again—it fills my veins, it bewilders my thoughts. 
 
 26 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 For good or for evil—to have and to hold a passionate 
 kinship with a dear one seems all there is in life! 
 
 [She is quite overcome, and sinks on the sofa, burying 
 her head in her hands.] 
 
 [Mrs. Hamlin goes to her and stands contemplatively 
 over her.] 
 
 [Fred Garvin, holding his hat in his hand, appears at 
 the door.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I took the liberty of coming up. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [At the sound of his voice quickly recovers, and dashes 
 towards him, all trace of her grief vanished.] Fred! 
 
 [He takes her in his arms.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Why, you are not dressed for our spin. I thought you 
 would take it for granted that I should come in my car. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Beaming.] There, mother ! Didn’t I tell you ! I shan’t 
 be a moment! [Runs off excitedly.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Quietly.] But you said you wanted to see her on busi¬ 
 ness. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Lightly.] What of it! There is no law to prevent our 
 talking business in a motor car. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 It s-eemed a little odd to me that you should have tele- 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 phoned as you did, and left your office so early, for I know 
 how busy you are. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Oh, a man may indulge himself, once in a while. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 To tell you the truth, I am a little relieved at your light 
 tone. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 You were not alarmed, were you? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I was, almost- 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What business could that little girl and I have together, 
 that would alarm anybody? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Quite so. I have been beset with misgivings of late. I 
 dare say my doctor can prescribe for them. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Misgivings ? What about ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 If you will lay aside your hat for a moment. [He does 
 jo.] Don’t you care to talk over the matter, such as it is, 
 with me before you speak to Rose? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 It seems hardly worth while. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 Somehow, that doesn’t ring true. 
 
 28 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 Fred. 
 
 No? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I don’t think you would have made this special appoint¬ 
 ment if it hadn’t been worth while. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Well, what do you imagine? What was'my motive? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 What was it? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [With a laugh.] Which of us is being cross-examined? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With calm seriousness.] I may have done an unwise 
 thing, but I have just had a serious talk with Rose. 
 
 What about? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Beckons him to be seated.] I wished to sound her feel¬ 
 ings for you. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Did they need sounding? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Appealingly.] I beg of you, don’t assume this care¬ 
 less tone. I have heard things—strange things—that have 
 disconcerted me. I appeal to you as an old friend. Give 
 me at least your sympathetic attention. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Honestly. ] I assure you of that. 
 
 29 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I had a visitor this afternoon. An old friend whom I 
 had not seen in twenty years. 
 
 Yes? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Do you not divine who it was ? 
 
 How can I? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Impatiently.] 
 
 I want an honest answer. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Well, really, Mrs. Hamlin- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Did you not have a visitor this morning, who repre¬ 
 sented himself to be an old friend of ours? 
 
 Of yours? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Of mine. 
 
 
 Well—yes. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 What did he have to say to you? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Now, really, is it not straining our friendship a bit, to 
 ask me to violate the sanctity of professional confidence ? 
 
 30 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 b These are mere words, Mr. Garvin—for if my premoni¬ 
 tions are not absolutely groundless, you intend to violate it. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [A little resentful ] What do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Would you be wanting to speak with Rose if that visit 
 had not taken place? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 You are taking too much for granted. 
 
 Answer me. 
 
 And if I decline? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I am already answered. And how did you mean to com¬ 
 municate the object of your visit to my daughter? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 How much of what took place do you know ? 
 
 All. 
 
 And does Rose 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 Fred. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 She knows nothing. You understand how deeply I am 
 concerned in what you have to say to her. 
 
 [ENTER Rose, ready for her ride.] 
 
 3i 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Well, are you ready? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Not yet. Mr. Garvin and I are having a talk. I will 
 send for you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Protesting.] But this isn’t fair. Fred belongs to me. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With authority.] Go. [As Rose reluctantly moves 
 away.] You may take off your coat and hat. I don’t think 
 you will need them. 
 
 Mother! 
 [Interceding.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Do you think this is necessary? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Hurries to his side, holds his hand affectionately, with 
 a look of appeal.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With a gesture bids her leave.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Concernedly leads her to the door, and dismisses her 
 tenderly.] In a little while. [She looks questioningly 
 from one to the other, and goes out sadly.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 It seemed unnecessary to give her this pain. 
 
 32 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Are you quite sure you did not have a greater in store 
 for her? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 You seem determined to make me play an ungracious 
 part. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 All men are cowards. They work along the line of least 
 resistance. Why could you not have come to me first? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What I had to say concerned only Rose. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Slightly aghast.] Surely you did no mean to tell .*er 
 about- 
 
 Fred. 
 
 About what? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [After a moment's embarrassment.] What you may 
 have heard of me. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 If I had heard anything, is it likely? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With a slight bitterness.] Violation of confidence, I 
 suppose ? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Precisely. [After a slight pause, during which he is evi¬ 
 dently making up' his mind.] Mrs. Hamlin, you tell me 
 you know the full purport of a certain visit to my office. 
 Before I proceed—what was the name of my visitor? 
 
 33 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 The Count di Varesi. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Nods his head.] Now I want you to place yourself in 
 my position. I am betrothed to your daughter. This 
 client, absolutely unaware of my relations with your fam¬ 
 ily, makes me the recipient, little by little, of information, 
 touching upon the most intimate concerns of his life, and 
 that of a certain woman, whose name, of course, is not 
 mentioned. Imagine the thought that flashes through my 
 mind, when I am instructed to make, in my client’s name, 
 the gift of a very large sum of money—to Rose Hamlin 
 —your daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Quickly.] You asked his motive? You questioned 
 him? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I did not need to question. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 He betrayed himself. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 No. No one could have dealt with greater delicacy with 
 so difficult a task. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Then how- 
 
 Fred. 
 
 But remember. He was my client. It could not be a 
 case of betraying himself. He charged me with secrecy. 
 Without framing a single compromising question, I gath¬ 
 ered, in a professional way, all that I needed to know. 
 Facts are facts—even when they are unspoken. 
 
 34 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And then you concluded at once that- 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Don’t ask me to put my conclusions into words. Imag¬ 
 ine, if you can, my feelings as a man, not as a lawyer- 
 after he had gone. When the duty lay before me of call¬ 
 ing upon Rose, to place in her possession this bounteous 
 gift from an unknown friend. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You should have come to me. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Why? To have given you needless pain and embarrass¬ 
 ment? To tell you all that I knew—and all that I con¬ 
 cluded? If you had not questioned me as you have done, 
 do you think you would ever have heard from me, that-- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Then what would you have told Rose? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 No more than it was necessary for her to know. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Perhaps I have done you an injustice. Perhaps I have 
 misinterpreted your object in seeking this speedy visit to 
 Rose. In that case, I ask your pardon. In my great 
 worry and excitement I feared for her happiness. Of 
 course, no blame can attach to her. It could not affect your 
 feelings for her. For a moment I dreaded your drive with 
 her this afternoon, lest you should betray even in the 
 
 35 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 slightest degree a change of heart towards her. [Slight 
 pause.] You don’t answer? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What answer do you expect? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [With a return of all her previous misgivings.] You 
 are keeping something back from me. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [With an almost cynical smile, and a vain gesture of 
 trying to answer.] Well! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You did mean to reveal something to her. It was as I 
 feared. You did mean to wound her. What would you 
 have told her? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Uncomfortably.] There are a hundred ways of break¬ 
 ing off an engagement, without- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Dismayed.] Breaking off an engagement! 
 mean that! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Why, in my position- 
 
 You don’t 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 It is cowardly. It is cruel. It will break her heart! 
 
 i 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [With irritating lightness.] I hope not. 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I tell you it will. You don’t know how she loves you. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 It will be a painful task. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 This can’t be. It must not be. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I don’t want to add to your distress. It is an irksome 
 situation. I had hoped to avoid this interview. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And let Rose face her misery alone! That would have 
 been brave of you. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 A man can’t always be brave. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [ With growing intensity and betraying fear for herself .] 
 I don’t trust you, Mr. Garvin. You and your cant about 
 the violating of confidence. When Rose demands the cause 
 from you, you will tell her. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 You need have no alarm on that score, I- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [As before .] I don’t trust you. If you are cowardly 
 enough to break off the engagement through no fault of 
 hers, you would not stop at that. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 There are some duties a man owes to himself and society. 
 
 37 
 
CHILDREN' OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 To society! Faugh! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Of course I cannot expect you to hold the same views on 
 that subject as I have. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And who are you —and what claims do you possess, that 
 you dare take this tone with me? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [With great cynicism.] It is only those whose claims 
 on society are beyond cavil who can afford to despise it. 
 
 Mrs. FIamlin. 
 
 You shall not do this thing! Do you understand me! 
 If your engagement is to be broken off, it shall be broken 
 off by me. 
 
 . Fred. 
 
 As you choose. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I shall call in Rose, and end all between you. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 If your method seems less harsh- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Harsh! [With a look of contempt at him, she goes to 
 the door and calls.] Rose! Rose! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What are you going to say to her ? 
 
 38 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I shall tell her that you are not worthy to be her hus¬ 
 band. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I protest! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 And it is the truth. You are absolutely unworthy of her. 
 And she shall learn it from my lips. 
 
 [ENTER Rose.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Well, are you all through? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [In excitement.} A little while ago, I told you that I had 
 heard things about Mr. Garvin that made me doubt the 
 wisdom of your marriage. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And I wouldn’t believe them. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 I have given Mr. Garvin a chance to defend himself. He 
 has failed to do so. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Going to him, with honest conviction.} I hope you un¬ 
 derstand that it is not I who ask you for a defense. [To 
 Mrs. Hamlin.] Mother, you had no right to question the 
 man I love. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 You are a foolish, romantic child. I know a mother’s 
 duties. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 It is too late to question him now. When I told him I 
 
 39 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 would become his wife, it was because I loved him—for 
 what he is—not for what he had been, or might become. 
 [To Fred.] You know that I trust you, don’t you—and 
 that nothing can make any difference between us. 
 
 Yes, Rose, but 
 But what? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I can’t ignore your mother’s attitude—and if we must 
 part- 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With deepest anguish.] Part! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I must try to bear the pain of it as best I may. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Pain! My God! Do you know what you are saying ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Come, Rose. When we are alone, we will try to bear it 
 together. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No—I shall not go. I will let no shadow kill the happi¬ 
 ness of our lives. [To him.] I don’t know what terrible 
 lie has come between us, but tell her, Fred, my darling 
 [clings to him] that it is a lie. You can’t be unworthy. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 No—I am not unworthy. 
 
 40 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Triumphing.] I knew it, mother! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But all the same I have decided. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Flashing upon her mother.] How can you decide, 
 mother ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Evasively.] Fred is going away. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Where is he going? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [As before.] Not here—not now. Come. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [To her mother — pleading.] Oh, leave me with him— 
 just for a moment. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Going to Mrs. Hamlin.] Only for one moment. You 
 need not fear. It shall be as you desire. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Going.] I shall return in a few minutes. [Clasping 
 Rose in her arms.] My darling—forgive me for the pain 
 and sorrow of it—but it has to be—it has to be. [She 
 goes out.] 
 
 [Rose is about to speak.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Immediately plunging into the subject, without waiting 
 for Rose to speak] [in a calm tone.] Just a moment, Rose, 
 
 41 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 before we lose ourselves in feeling. There is a matter of 
 business that I must dispose of first—the business that 
 brought me here. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 What do I care for that? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Just one moment, dear; listen as calmly as you can. 
 Your birthday will occur to-morrow. I am the custodian 
 of a rich present for you—a deed of gift has been pre¬ 
 pared— 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With agonized impatience .] Why do you speak of that 
 now? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Continuing calmly.] An old friend, who asks to be 
 nameless, has given you, through our firm, the sum of two 
 million florins. . The documents are now preparing, you 
 will be in possession of your fortune before to-morrow 
 night. [Rose has been staring at him.] You are listening 
 —you understand, do you not—I want all this clear be¬ 
 fore we part. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But we are not going to part. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 We are, Rose. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Speaking with suffering.] W-why! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Your mother has told you. 
 
 42 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Rose. 
 
 She has told me nothing. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What does the cause matter, since it must be. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Don’t you love me? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I did love f seeing her tortured expression ]—I do love 
 you; but something has come between us—that is difficult 
 for me to explain. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I know the fault is not yours, in spite of what mother 
 says. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I appreciate your trust in me—I am trying to be candid 
 with you—but your mother has made it hard. I cannot 
 play the hero, or the hypocrite. Let her explain it to you— 
 when I am gone—if she chooses to explain. It is a duty 
 that I owe to myself—that’s all. Good bye. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Agonized.] Don’t go—not yet—I must understand. 
 [Trying to be calm.] The business that brought you to¬ 
 day—tell me about that. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I have told you already. A gift to you of two million 
 florins. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 By whom? 
 
 43 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Fred. 
 
 A stranger. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Your going has something to do with this gift. What is 
 the mystery; who is the stranger; what is he to me ? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 All this is for your mother to answer. 
 
 ROSE; 
 
 [As the truth gradually glimmers .] Two million florins. 
 Why florins? Since the visit of that man her manner has 
 changed. He was an Italian. Florins! Fred, has all that 
 has happened come through that man? [He doesn't an¬ 
 swer.] Who is he? What is he to me? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 What does it matter? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Matter! Since it is to separate us? What have I done? 
 What have I done that I should be punished like this? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 You have done nothing, Rose, even if, in the eyes of 
 the world, you must bear your share of the guilt. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Stunned.] Guilt? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 At least that is what the world would call it. 
 make the laws of society, we only obey them. 
 
 We do not 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That Italian—who is he? Who is he? 
 
 44 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Don’t ask me, Rose. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You must tell me! I must know. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 He is your- [Checking himself, he walks away from 
 
 her.) 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Finishing falteringly.) Father! [She sinks overcome 
 on the seat in silence, and as Fred turns away, she adds in 
 a tone of deep sorrow .] And that is why you are leaving 
 me? 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I must. Some day you will understand. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I shall never understand. I only know that through all 
 the pain of future years I shall be asking why you are 
 leaving me now. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 Because I cannot make you my wife. [She looks up in 
 mute appeal .] I could not clear the stain from your name 
 by marrying you; I would only besmirch my own. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 The stain upon my name! Then there is one- 
 
 Fred. 
 
 At least—if I were to make you my wife- [He hesi¬ 
 
 tates as she winces under his words.) 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Then I am not worthy to be your wife? 
 
 45 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 I didn’t say that—not in those words—I only meant- 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Nor any man’s wife. [She breaks down completely.] 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Trying vainly to comfort her.\ It is not your fault, 
 Rose—it is not your fault. 
 
 [She sobs bitterly.] 
 
 [ENTER Mrs. Hamlin.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Seeing her daughter’s collapse, and going to her.] My 
 darling, what has happened? [To Fred fiercely.] You 
 have not kept faith with me. 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [Irritated.] Why should I blacken my own character? 
 Why should I defend you! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Under her breath, pointing to the door.] Go! 
 
 Fred. 
 
 [After a pause of hesitation, leaves abruptly.] 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Taking her in her arms.] My poor, poor girl—what 
 has he told you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Finding her voice.] What does it matter? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Under her breath.] The coward! I never trusted him. 
 
 46 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Don’t talk like that, mother—he was all I had in the 
 world. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 My darling—you will understand some day—and you 
 will learn to forgive me! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [As if coming out of a trance with the echo of her 
 mother’s last words.] Forgive you? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 For the grief that I have caused you—yes, darling, it was 
 I, but you must forgive me—you will forgive me. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You are my mother. How can I have anything to for¬ 
 give you ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But you must tell me now that you do forgive me. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Trying calmly to reason it out.] What have I to for¬ 
 give ? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Embracing her passionately.] More, more than you 
 know. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He left me, though no fault of mine. Do you ask me 
 to forgive you for that? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Yes—yes- But you don’t say it. I am begging you 
 
 to say it. You don’t say it! 
 
 47 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Forgive you for breaking my heart? [She weeps on her 
 mother's shoulder, then recovers, shaking her head slowly, 
 as if it were impossible .] No—no- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Don’t say that you will not forgive me. Oh, my darling, 
 through all my years of suffering you have been the one 
 recompense of my life. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In a hollow voice.] Something has changed in me— 
 some chord has snapped. I am terrified. Where is all the 
 love that has been in my heart for you? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Alarmed.] You do not hate me? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 How could I hate you! I don’t understand. What is 
 this bitterness that is taking possession of me? Oh, mother 
 —what does it mean? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Rose! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 What crime have I committed that I am made to suffer 
 like this? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But it was no fault of yours- He told you it was no 
 
 fault of yours. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Bitter to the core.] No fault-of mine! Who dares 
 make me suffer through no fault of mine? 
 
 48 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Time will heal all, my darling. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No. There is no healing. You knew what was going 
 to happen when you spoke to me of giving him up. You 
 will recall my answer. If anything comes between us I 
 shall not care to live. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But you did not mean it! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes, I meant it then—and I mean it now. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Rose—you would not punish me like this—you would 
 not condemn me unheard. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He told me there was a stain upon my name—that I am 
 not fit to be any man’s wife. 
 
 The coward! 
 
 He was right- 
 can live? 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Then what is the life that such as I 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 [In terror .] Rose! Rose ! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I have often wondered how they came to be lost—these 
 helpless lives cast upon the world, selling their beauty in 
 the market place. They had lost their love; they had lost 
 
 49 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 their souls; it was no fault of theirs—it was no fault of 
 theirs! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 But you must not speak like this—I forbid it! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Ha! What am I better than they! Am I more fit than 
 they to be an honest man’s wife? Mother! This is the 
 end ! This is the end ! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 Don’t, Rose—it is too terrible! [In horror.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I will take the money that belongs to me. Mine in pay¬ 
 ment of my share of the guilt. Mother, do you under¬ 
 stand me? I am going away. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Wrung with dismay.] What will become of you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 i 
 
 Who cares? What do they expect of such as I? They 
 shall not be disappointed, those of that fine world to which 
 he belongs! They write in a clear hand the doom of those 
 whose names are stained—through no fault of theirs! I 
 have done with them, I have done with them all! There is 
 but one task in life before me. To forget—to forget! 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Trying to interrupt.] Not me! Not me! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Continuing in a torrent of feeling.] Yes— and to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 50 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 No—Rose—my daughter! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes, forgotten. And you will be glad enough to forget 
 me when I have gone out of your life, out of your world— 
 when I have joined those who have become what I shall 
 become-When I have found my place among- 
 
 Mrs. Hamlin. 
 
 [Falling on her knees in supplicating anguish.] Don’t 
 say it! Don’t say it! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a final outcry of despair .] Among those! Among 
 those ! 
 
 [Dashes out in great emotion, leaving her mother utterly 
 overcome, as the curtain falls.] 
 
 End of Act I. 
 
 51 
 
ACT II. 
 
 LAPSE OF ONE YEAR. 
 
 SCENE: A secluded section of a popular restaurant in 
 the American colony at Nice, France, cut off by shrubbery 
 from the main dining room, which is supposed to be off at 
 the back, whence the sounds of an orchestra playing are 
 heard. 
 
 [At a table to the right are discovered Walter Hobart 
 and Edwin Ford. 
 
 [Hobart is scribbling on the cheap paper which profes¬ 
 sional writers use, which is piled around him, and he scat¬ 
 ters sheets as fast as he fills them.] [Ford, in a brown 
 study, is smoking a cigarette, and sipping absinthe.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Apologetically, but writing feverishly.] Just a minute, 
 old man. I mustn’t let this idea get away from me. Can’t 
 afford it. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Indifferently.] Don’t mind me. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [After writing furiously for a spell.] There! [Gathers 
 up the sheets and makes a pile of them.] Now I can be 
 
 52 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 human once more—but there’s something about this cafe 
 that whips my brain into action. When future generations 
 shall discuss the personal habits of that great writer, Wal¬ 
 ter Hobart, who flourished—well, we won’t say flourished— 
 existed—in the twentieth century, it shall be observed that 
 his most fantastic conceits were born at a little iron table at 
 the Cafe des Americains at Nice, France, usually in the 
 early afternoon, after a meal that may be called breakfast, 
 or lunch, according to one’s geography. But here I am, 
 prattling away like an untrammeled child of nature—when, 
 after all, the main object of my bringing you here was to 
 rouse you out of yourself. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Listlessly.] Thank you. [He prepares himself another 
 decoction of absinthe.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Continuing lightly.] But you decline to be roused—ex¬ 
 cept so far as continual libations of that vile green fluid can 
 rouse you—and that is depressing. Brace up, old man, and 
 be gay. If you can’t be gay, be as gay as you can. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 If I could scribble like you, perhaps I could scribble my¬ 
 self into a condition of gaiety like yours. It must be a 
 great relief to you to be able to shed your gloom on sheets 
 of paper like that. You always seem so much brighter 
 for it. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Your diagnosis is wrong. The gaiety you notice is only 
 the relief in having got the stuff out of my system. 
 
 53 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But to be able to express one’s pent-up feelings in writ¬ 
 ing! It is a great privilege. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 That’s the amateur idea of it. You don’t suppose I 
 write because I have pent-up feelings to express. Tut, tut 
 —likewise, go to! I write because I get paid by the word 
 —and the largest portion of my income is derived from 
 dodging every possible feeling with a sort of glib fecundity. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Don't tell me you don’t feel what you write. I have 
 read your writings. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 If I have cheated you into that belief, all the better. 
 That’s what I am paid for. But imagine the large assort¬ 
 ment of feelings I should have to have on tap to exude all 
 the different things I put on paper. Here I am—a hireling, 
 at the beck and call of an itinerant yachtsman—whose one 
 redeeming quality is his appreciation of my versatility. To¬ 
 day, I am employed to do the Riviera for his paper, in my 
 finest Rabelaisian style—next week, I may be his Sunday 
 Editor in New York. Ha! In this age of near-silk—near¬ 
 rubber—and, near-eggs—I am a near-genius ! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With a light laugh, takes another drink.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I am glad to have wrested a smile from you. That’s en¬ 
 couraging. Though I don’t approve of these frequent visits 
 to the absinthe bottle. [With a serious change of manner.] 
 
 54 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Now look here, Ford, you’re an unhappy man. I have 
 known you fairly intimately for a short time. I know 
 there is some sorrow tucked away in your inner conscious¬ 
 ness, and in due course of time you will reveal it to me. 
 I am not pressing you to seek that relief until you are 
 ready, but to try to drown it in drink is a damned bad 
 way. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Pshaw! Don’t shift the conversation from you to me_ 
 
 you won’t be half so amusing. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Oh, I am not always amusing. I have a side that borders 
 on the lugubrious. Didn’t you read my “Under Life at 
 Monte Carlo”? That was warranted to give the doldrums 
 to Sunny Jim. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes, I did read it—and I didn’t agree with all your con¬ 
 clusions, either. Vice is not all black—your gaming table is 
 Monte Carlo may solace many an aching heart, and your 
 dazzling beauties—your light-o’-loves, dwelling in seductive 
 villas, may be balm to bruised spirits. I hate these fixed 
 lines of demarcation between vice and virtue. What is 
 virtue? Where do we find it? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I’ll suggest that as one of the prize questions for a 
 Sunday issue. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 And how shall we know when we have found it? Come, 
 my brilliant magazinist—define it to me—in a word, if you 
 can- What is virtue? 
 
 55 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [After a slight pause.] Inexperience! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Fine! And the logical deduction is, that as experience 
 comes, virtue departs! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Yes—that’s a kind of logic—but whether the result of 
 keen perception, or too much absinthe, I can’t determine. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 And even this much-abused friend of mine [indicating 
 the absinthe ] suffers from a ruined reputation. Heaven 
 knows he has done more to alleviate sorrow than many a 
 paid nurse. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 You are morbid to-day. Something tells me you’re on 
 the point of a confession. Well, out with it—who was 
 she? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 You conclude then, there was a she. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 That question seems almost childish. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes, there was a she. And if I have wiped out these 
 imaginary lines between vice and virtue, it is because of her. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 You are pitching your remarks in such a high key of 
 rhetoric that I am not sure I get you. You were in love 
 once. You were jilted? 
 
 56 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Jilted! Ha! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Well, others have been. And they have become better 
 citizens for it. They didn’t make it their excuse for deify¬ 
 ing drink. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But it destroyed my belief in virtue. That is the bitter 
 part of it. And when you say jilted—you are merely 
 groping. No, I was not jilted, I was betrayed. I was 
 humiliated. It turned my holiest thoughts of love to 
 shame. Do you begin to understand? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Go on. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But why should I tell you this? You are a professional 
 writer. What does a man’s heartache mean to you, except 
 more copy. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [With sincerity, as he takes Ford’s hand.] Now, under¬ 
 stand me, Ford, I am not coercing you into a confession. 
 If you make one, I shall value and respect it. It may make 
 you happier. I have grown fond of you since we became 
 friends in Paris, and I have tried to prove a good com¬ 
 panion to you, though I have not bragged about it. I shall 
 always try to ring true. That’s all I have to say about it. 
 So speak, or remain silent, as you will. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With something like enthusiasm.] Do you know, Wal- 
 
 57 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 ter, one grip of the hand from a friend like you, is worth 
 all the blandishments of all the women in the world. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I won’t say that—but we won’t dispute about it. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 A year ago I was engaged to be married to one of the 
 prettiest girls in New York. She was a good girl, a well- 
 bred girl, a highly educated girl—you know the type. Rich, 
 pampered, and all that sort of thing. If there ever was a 
 girl who had no excuse for going wrong, it was she. One 
 of those open-eyed, child-women that enchain a man’s very 
 soul with their apparent innocence. I loved her. The wed¬ 
 ding day was fixed. I called at her home one day, and 
 found a note. I have never seen her since. That inno¬ 
 cence was all a sham! She had given herself, for no ap¬ 
 parent reason, into the arms of some libertine, who appealed 
 to her, as I evidently did not, in some mysterious sex way, 
 that the world has never been quite able to define. But she 
 was innocent! She was virtuous! Do you wonder now, 
 why I resent these fixed catalogues of vice and virtue! In 
 her note she had the grace to admit that it was through no 
 fault of mine that she threw me over. As if that miti¬ 
 gated the suffering, the shame, the disgrace. I have sought 
 to forget her in travel and dissipation. But that is the 
 mockery of it! Drink doesn’t do it! The promiscuous pur¬ 
 suit of other women doesn't do it—though, I still persevere 
 at both. And when I read your learned essays that are 
 guide posts to vice and virtue, I laugh at you, for vice and 
 virtue are interchangeable terms, and have only such mean¬ 
 ing as we choose to give them. [Slight pause.] 
 
 58 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 There is nothing strange in your story. There is noth¬ 
 ing new—except your conclusions. Your’s happens to be 
 the man’s side of it. I dare say, somewhere in the world, 
 there is the exact counterpart of it on the woman’s side. 
 We are all Children of Destiny. Do you think that woman 
 would be justified in maintaining that honor among all 
 men was only a name, because of her one unhappy ex¬ 
 perience ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I shouldn’t blame her. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 This goes deeper than blame. It evokes a sorrow that 
 makes kinship. I am older than you, Edwin, and I have 
 graduated from the college you have just entered. I have 
 gone through all the classes that have intervened since my 
 first lesson in heartache. You have taken up the primary 
 studies of absinthe and loose women. You will ripen into 
 a proper sense of proportion some day, and then you won’t 
 mistake the gaming table for a nerve tonic, nor a secluded 
 villa for a sanitarium. [In a lighter tone.] Let me read 
 you a paragraph I have just written in my special article. 
 [Finding his place.] It deals directly with the Gilded Wom¬ 
 en of the Riviera. [Reads.] “And here, holding high 
 court, with a train of her own, that includes crowned 
 heads, and others not so crowned, we find one more beau¬ 
 tiful and more radiant than her any of her frail sisters.” 
 [Speaks.] I single this one out to you as permitting of 
 no argument as to where virtue leaves off, and vice be¬ 
 gins. [Reads.] “She has but recently invaded the charmed 
 circle of Monte Carlo. Her villa is one of the most de- 
 
 59 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 lightfully situated on the dreamy slope, lapped by the beau¬ 
 tiful blue sea. She is reputedly an American, though some 
 of us detect a slightly foreign accent, which, however, may 
 be assumed, for it adds to her witchery, and a certain 
 vague mystery that surrounds her. From whatever source 
 it comes, she seems well supplied with money, which she 
 spends lavishly. There is even a mystery as to her present 
 favorite—she has not identified herself with any particular 
 one, she is cultivating a sort of salon for her worshippers— 
 and with it all she carries, paradoxically enough—a certain 
 air that seems to say: T am what I am—and if you ask me 
 to feel ashamed, I refuse.’ She calls herself Rosamond— 
 possibly in honor of Swinburne. She certainly suggests the 
 amorous metres of the late poet.” [As he lays down his 
 script , he looks up.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Quietly.] I have met her. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 So have I. How do I describe her? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Very well, except that you take her vocation for granted. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [With a laugh.] Don’t you? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I don’t want to place myself in the position of defend¬ 
 ing these frail sisters as you call them—but I have ceased 
 placing them in a class by themselves. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What do you gain by that? 
 
 60 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 A greater poet than you has said: “Frailty, thy name is 
 woman.” He meant “women/' of course. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 If he did, he was a bad grammarian. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 And when that same poet moaned, “Oh, that we can call 
 these delicate creatures ours, and not their appetites,” he 
 wasn’t thinking only of professional frailty—if I may coin 
 the phrase. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 The long and short of it, Ford, is that you are so em¬ 
 bittered against one woman, that it has made you morbid 
 and unreal. I refuse to believe that your true self does not 
 make just the same distinctions that I do. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I can only pray that the years may restore the faith I 
 lost. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 And until then, let me give you a bit of calm, cold¬ 
 blooded advice. [After a slight pause.] Keep clear of this 
 mysterious Rosamond. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Why do you single her out? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Shall I tell you honestly? Because I have seen you with 
 her. [Ford indicates surprise.] I have seen her weaving 
 her toils about you. I know the danger. 
 
 61 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Danger! Ha! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Don’t laugh. She is more gifted in her craft than any 
 woman I ever knew. She has power to incite, that is per¬ 
 fect art. She knows when to yield, and when to deny. She 
 knows the market value of coldness and indifference, and 
 she trades on these qualities. She can be select almost to 
 the point of prudery, and she can hold you—hold you till 
 the end of time! And her price is high. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What do you know of that? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 There is a meaning to that word beyond money; though 
 even in that regard she might bankrupt you. Yes—even 
 you —with your ample fortune. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I don’t think you need worry on that score. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 And there is a greater price—the enslaving of your man¬ 
 hood—the surrender of your self-respect- 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Why, you are speaking with real feeling, or am I de¬ 
 ceiving myself again? Is that only another trick of your 
 trade ? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I use my tricks only when I write. I could tell a story 
 of my own if I chose—but it would begin and end differ¬ 
 ently from yours. It would start with the degradation, 
 
 62 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 from which I have emerged, and close with the promise of 
 a new and cleaner life—with the girl I am going to marry. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 You are going to marry? This is news to me. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I met her this summer, doing the Continent with her 
 mother. She is a Washington girl. She has got as far as 
 Nice, on her way to Monte Carlo, where I am to help her 
 open her eyes, her beautiful young eyes. She is due here 
 in a little while; when she comes, I will present you. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Let me wish you joy— [Sighs] —if there is such a thing. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Going to the door of the “salle.”] I will cast an eye 
 about the main hall. She may have arrived. [Returning 
 With some agitation.] Ford, that woman has just entered 
 the dining room with that simpering old roue in her train. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With a laugh.] Julius Langhorn! She doesn’t care a 
 button for him! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Oh, you know that, do you ? She has told you ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I knew she was coming here, and with him. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 This American colony of ours is responsible for some 
 weird conceits! Julius Langhorn! A sprightly young lamb¬ 
 kin, about ninety in the shade, I should think. 
 
 63 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But he adores youth and beauty. That keeps him young. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 And childish. How can she bother with that old fool? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Oh, she will get rid of him soon enough! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Oh—you know that, do you ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Oh, yes. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Perhaps she expects to find you here? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Heaves a sigh, and makes a gesture of despair.] 
 [ENTER Mrs. Winfield-Chase, followed by Laura. 
 Laura hangs back and looks off.] 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Oh, here you are! Laura said you would be in the most 
 secluded spot. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Yes, you see we are cut off here by the shrubbery—and 
 we escape the noise and glitter. Here is where we invite 
 our soul. Will you permit me ? Mrs. Winfield-Chase—Mr. 
 Edwin Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Extending her hand.] I am happy to meet you. [Call- 
 
 64 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 ing to her daughter.] Laura! What ails you, my dear! 
 You haven’t greeted Walter. [Laura does so, abstracted¬ 
 ly.] And this is Walter’s friend, Mr. Ford. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 How do you do? [Bows.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What is the matter? You seem abstracted! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I saw a face just now that haunts me. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 She is forever seeing faces that haunt her. We couldn’t 
 go anywhere on the Continent without everybody, from 
 the concierge of the hotel, to the soldier in the sentry box 
 reminding her of some one else. She even took the Em¬ 
 peror Francis Joseph for Doctor Cook! 
 
 [Ford drifts off the scene.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What face is it this time? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Who is that woman—dressed so strikingly, with a cer¬ 
 tain Italian air? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Now, Laura—what do you care to know about that class 
 of woman for? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 What do you know of her class, mother ? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Don’t snap me up, Laura—it is a pretty safe conclusion 
 
 65 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 that any of these over-gowned women circulating about 
 places like this with eccentric escorts, belong to a class. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Her eccentric escort happens to be your particular friend, 
 Mr. Langhorn. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Annoyed.] The idea! [Appealing to Hobart.] Now, 
 you have experience, and even more than ordinary sense. 
 [He bouts.] What am I to do with a man with so little dis¬ 
 crimination, that he can follow in my train one moment, 
 and the next be dangling after—well—after such as that? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Amused.] That’s cosmopolitan laxity. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Cosmopolitan impudence, I call it! And we are to be 
 his guests here for lunch. I shall talk plainly with Mr. 
 Langhorn. I make all allowance for his over-done genial¬ 
 ity. He must beam. He can’t help himself. But I can’t 
 have him beaming all over the place when I am around; it 
 hurts my pride, and it rather impairs my social standing. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [With a laugh.] You are quite right. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [To Hobart.] 
 
 But all this time, you are leaving my question unan¬ 
 swered? Who is that woman? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Seriously to her.] Why do you wish to know? 
 
 66 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I know her! [Rising and facing her mother.] I tell you, 
 mother, it is Rose Hamlin! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Quite agitated.] Why, Laura, this is preposterous. [Ex¬ 
 plaining hurriedly to Hobart.] The daughter of one of my 
 dearest friends! [To Laura.] I don’t see how you dare 
 imagine such a thing. That simple, innocent girl—and this 
 notorious woman! 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Who knows by what road she came from then to nowf 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 You are carrying your vagaries too far. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Why has she not written me in all these months? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Ci-iase. 
 
 You know she left Washington and went to Arizona 
 with her mother to join her father. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 That’s what her mother wrote you. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 And what about her marriage that was to have taken 
 place within the year? We haven’t even received our in¬ 
 vitation. 
 
 67 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Even so, must you jump at the most unreasonable and 
 illogical conclusion? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 You cannot argue down that face, mother. [Turning to 
 Hobart.] Walter, who is she? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I know nothing of her antecedents, and who she is mat¬ 
 ters less now than what she is. And for that reason, my 
 dear, we will leave her out of our conversation. [They 
 continue in an undertone.] 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Seeing the entering Langhorn, in a high note of agi¬ 
 tation.] Ah, there you are! 
 
 [ENTER Langhorn.] 
 
 [He is a very young, very old man, with white curly hair, 
 a florid face, and tzmnkling feet. He chirps his remarks, 
 Hits in his movements, and has an infectious chuckle.] 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 My dear, dear, dear Mrs. Winfield-Chase. Here you are 
 —here you are—here you are ! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 And don’t you think it’s about time for you to report? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 High time, indeed—that’s why I’m reporting. This is 
 the table Eve secured. Secluded—eh? Far from the mad¬ 
 ding crowd. What? [Goes to it.] 
 
 68 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Far from ~ny waiter, I should say. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Fve attended to that. Lunch is ordered. Hardly a 
 lunch. Just a bite. You know—one of my tasty bites. 
 Trust your Julius for that! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 My Julius, indeed! I’ll have a word or two to say on 
 
 that subject in a moment. In the meanwhile- [Calling 
 
 over to Hobart.] Mr. Hobart, I want to present Mr. 
 
 Langhorn-He doesn’t deserve it—but I can’t very well 
 
 help myself. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 [Twinkles over to him and grasps him by the hand.] 
 Delighted to meet you, Mr. Hobart. Very, very, very! 
 Heard of you ever so many times—ever so many nice 
 things. It pleases her ladyship [with a comic guilty look 
 at Mrs. Winfield-Chase.] to be bitter in her present 
 mood toward me—but I’m an old and devoted slave and 
 admirer, and as such, am entitled to some little recogni¬ 
 tion. Eh? [Twinkles over to her.] Say something pleas¬ 
 ant! [Twinkles back to Hobart.] I have ordered for 
 four—four—let me see, that’s right, isn’t it? [Counting 
 noses.] Though, if appreciation could be expressed in fig¬ 
 ures, I should have made it fourteen. [Indicating.] One, 
 two, three, us —and Mrs. Winfield-Chase the other eleven. 
 Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 I wish, Mr. Langhorn, you wouldn’t flutter so much, 
 you make me nervous. 
 
 69 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Must flutter—can’t help it. I was born fluttering! Ah, 
 there you are! [This to a waiter, who enters zvith lunch¬ 
 eon, which is laid on table .] Shall we be seated? [Indi¬ 
 cates the places of the four.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [The waiter serves the luncheon, making the necessary 
 exits and entrances. At the conclusion Langhorn signs bill 
 for the meal. In the meanwhile Laura and Hobart be¬ 
 come absorbed in each other as if continuing silently a 
 previous argument, during which the other pair enjoy their 
 luncheon, zvhich they diversify zvith the following conver¬ 
 sation, to distant strains of lively music.] 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Now, let me hear your explanation—and, I hope, your 
 apology. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Apology? Oh, you mean—what do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Is it necessary, in order that you may keep up your high¬ 
 ly strung cosmopolitan air, that you should widen the cir- 
 
 70 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 cle of your acquaintance, until it gets beyond the border 
 line of respectability? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Oh, I see! You mean—what do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Hopelessly.] You certainly have the gift of seeming 
 artless. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Seeming! I am artless ! I am a child ! I do no wrong, 
 because I see no wrong! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Then what do I want you to apologize for? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 That’s what I should like to know. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [Severely.] For showing so little tact, not to use a 
 harsher word—as to make me share your attentions with 
 questionable characters. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Questionable characters? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 You were spending your time with one of them, just im¬ 
 mediately before joining me. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I don’t know what you call spending your time. I am 
 on nodding terms with all classes and conditions of men, 
 not to say women. They say a cat may look at a king— 
 and I suppose the reverse is equally true. 
 
 71 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 As you are neither king nor cat, I don’t respond to your 
 argument. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Always epigrammatic! I have always maintained it — 1 
 you have a saliency that borders on the sublime! You are 
 in brief—by Jove, you are —you know you are! 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 I am very sorry you were compelled to give up your at¬ 
 tractive tete-a-tete from a sense of duty to us. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Don’t shrivel my sensitive nature with needless re¬ 
 proaches. Everybody makes allowances for Julius. He 
 can flit from flower to flower, and leave no more harm in 
 his wake than so much traveling sunshine. Don’t frown 
 on me, Miriam—the time has come when I must call you 
 Miriam—I can stand anything but your frown. The world 
 grows gray when Miriam frowns, and I lose my youth. 
 And what would I be without my youth! I was seen in 
 company with—well, with that baffling beauty—but only 
 for a moment. She seemed lonesome. She seemed looking 
 for somebody she didn’t find. And I went up to her 
 and said: “You are not looking for me, are you?” 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 The impertinence! 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 You see, I had met her before. Not met her exactly. 
 Just been introduced—no, not exactly that, either. Any¬ 
 how, I knew who she was, and she knew that I knew, and 
 
 72 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 when I said: “You are not looking for me?" she smiled, 
 and answered: “I didn’t know that I was.” Now that 
 struck me as rather clever. She didn’t know that she was. 
 Maybe she was, and didn’t know it. Ha! Ha! And I was 
 prepared to argue it out with her, when the other one ar¬ 
 rives. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Which other one ? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 The young man she evidently was looking for. [By 
 this time the others have become interested.] For she 
 joined him, and they strolled off—and I— [sheepishly] — 
 came here. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 It was very good of you. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What was the other young man like? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Other young, is good! Ha! Ha! Friend of yours? At 
 least, I suppose he was, for the first thing she said to him 
 was, “How did you leave our friend Hobart?’’ 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Then she knows you? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Yes_and no- [Stops short and changes the subject.] 
 
 If we are to catch that five o’clock train, we had better be 
 
 starting. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Don’t you want me to motor you over? 
 
 73 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Laura and Mr. Hobart have arranged to go by train. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 But that needn’t prevent our- 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 [ With fine irony.] I don’t think I care to jeopardize my 
 reputation by being seen alone with you all that way. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Now, my dear—don’t be cruel. Bear and forbear. Think 
 of the Julius that is all yours—the Julius as you want him 
 to be—for he is many kinds of a Julius, and when you’ve 
 settled on just what kind of a Julius you want, set your 
 alarm clock, and he’ll ring just when, where, and how you 
 want him. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 What do you think, Laura? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 [Twinkles over to her.] Say the right thing, Laura! 
 [Twinkles back to Mrs. Winfield-Chase.] She says, “Of 
 course!” Don’t you, Laura? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With a smile.] I think he’s too young, mother, to be 
 left alone. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Capital! I’m the youngest thing you ever heard of— 
 and getting younger all the time. 
 
 [Takes Mrs. Winfield-Chase’s arm, and leaves with 
 her.] 
 
 74 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 And now, shall we follow them? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 It’s a wonderful feeling, going to Monte Carlo for the 
 first time. And to think that we are ending it there! It’s 
 like playing with fire—isn’t it? Well [with a sigh of satis¬ 
 faction], it’s a comfort to know that I shall be sheltered. 
 [Nestles closely to him.] 
 
 [Rose Hamlin’s laugh is heard off.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Releasing herself from Hobart— with agitation.] I 
 know that laugh. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [With concern.] She is coming here—that Rosamond 
 woman. If we go out at this side door we shall avoid her. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With quick determination.] I don’t want to avoid her. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What do you want to do? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Speak with her. 
 
 What for? 
 
 Identify her. I know 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 I can’t be mistaken. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Even if you are not—what then? 
 
 75 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Don’t ask me that. There’s something in my heart that’s 
 calling me to her. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Severely.] I don’t wish you to stay. I don’t wish you 
 to speak to her. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Don’t say that, Walter. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [As before.] Understand me, Laura, I know you will 
 not set my wishes at naught. Whoever this woman may 
 prove to be, you and she can have nothing in common. 
 Promise me that. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Waves her hand impatiently, too much absorbed in the 
 approach of Rose.] 
 
 [Hobart stands by the door waiting, as Rose Hamlin, 
 with the outward semblance of an emblazoned demi-mon- 
 dair.e, a complete contrast to the girl of the first act, laugh¬ 
 ingly sweeps into the room from the other side. Ford 
 stands in the doorway, through which she has just entered.] 
 
 [Laura goes up to her, extending her hand.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Rose! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Stops consciously for a brief moment, then turns away, 
 trying to assume a light indifference, with Ford, who comes 
 down to her. She has shown in that one brief moment 
 with Laura all that she knows of self-control in avoiding 
 a revelation.] 
 
 76 
 
 1 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Falteringly.] You do not know me? 
 
 [Hobart goes down shelteringly, and takes her up.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Thank Heaven, for that. [Laura buries her head on his 
 shoulder. He goes out with her.] 
 
 [The music is heard off, at intervals, playing the inci¬ 
 dental melody: “>Silent Stars of Night.”] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 That was strange, wasn’t it? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Assuming lightness.] Strange? Not at all! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 She thought she knew you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That happens to me all the time. There must be some¬ 
 thing very ordinary about me. I am constantly reminding 
 people of their absent friends. [Waiter brings on two 
 glasses and a bottle of champagne in cooler, which he 
 places on table.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Going for the wine.] Well, let’s drink to the absent 
 friends. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You have evidently exhausted your invention in finding 
 motives for drinking. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 That is life. We are always finding motives for things 
 
 77 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 and people that require no motives at all. [Handing her a 
 glass.] Is there a more bootless pursuit in life, than try¬ 
 ing to find motives for people? The days and nights I 
 have wasted on it! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Beginning with the motive of life, itself. [She sighs.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Thank God, Fve gotten beyond that point. Life has no 
 motive. [Looking closely at her.] There’s a tear drop 
 clinging to the fringe of your eyelash. There’s no motive 
 for that. And I know it. I’m going to brush it off. [Does 
 «?<?.] That girl’s fancied recognition of you has awakened 
 memories—these memories have caused a tear. One more 
 motiveless than the other. We know she had no motive, 
 for she was a stranger to you—and I’ll be hanged if I let 
 you imagine one; for I don’t like tears. And there’s only 
 one way to extract happiness out of this wretched life of 
 ours—dismiss what you don’t like—banish it—forget it. 
 [All this has been spoken with a sort of introspective bit¬ 
 terness.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 If you can. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Why not? I’ve learned the trick! It has cost me some¬ 
 thing to learn it. But I have learned it! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That’s where we deceive ourselves—that’s where we be¬ 
 come addicted to those new beliefs, which, whether they 
 be disguisd as medicine or religion, are only another form 
 of narcotic. They still the pain—they cannot cure it. And 
 
 78 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 memory—the greatest pain of all, can only sleep—it can 
 never die. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Well, who cares whether it sleeps or dies, so long as it 
 doesn’t wake up? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In a lighter tone.] At any rate, we did not come here 
 to exchange morbid fancies, did we? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No—I’ll be hanged, if we did. Though, if you were to 
 ask me what we did come for, I couldn’t tell you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That is not very flattering—especially as it was your 
 suggestion that we should find this place the most secluded. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Quite right. So it is. And if there is one thing a 
 checkered life has taught me, it is the blessing of seclusion. 
 [Drinks.] Especially seclusion for two. [Fills her glass 
 and offers it to her. She decline's.] No? I’m sorry. I 
 wanted you to meet me on equal grounds. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I don’t like to see you drinking so much. It may sound 
 too frank, but I should like you better if you didn’t. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Perhaps you wouldn’t like me at all, how do you know ? 
 I’m an unbearable prig when I’m too sober. And, besides, 
 if I were too sober, would I now be enjoying the honor of 
 your charming society? 
 
 79 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Rising and moving away.] I don’t think I understand. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Feeling the wine.] Pardon me. I didn’t mean that. 
 There’s one thing I want you to take for granted in my 
 society. I mean to be a gentleman. My methods may, at 
 times, appear obscure; but I shall always mean to be a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a touch of bitterness.] And, after all, what are 
 mere manners? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes. [Then grasping her meaning.] What do you 
 mean? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Underneath any possible show of gallantry on your part, 
 I should read the truth. I should always know. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That you had first met me in that informal way. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 It was a very delightful way. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That may be true—but it carries its punishment. I won¬ 
 der if we should like each other as well, if we had been 
 properly introduced? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I can only speak for myself. I shouldn’t like you half 
 so well. 
 
 80 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I can’t understand that. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Oh, you could, if you knew the kind of a derelict I am. I 
 have long since stopped being properly introduced. I am 
 just a drifting hulk, for the casual wayfarer to make the 
 best or the worst of. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I can’t make you out. You choose your words too well 
 to he sincere. I have found that those who feel deepest 
 sometimes fumble. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Well. [Bluntly.] I don't feel deeply. I don’t want to 
 —and I hope I may never fumble. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Do you remember how we first met? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I think so. It was at the Casino concert. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 The concert was over. You lingered in your seat. They 
 were putting out the lights. They had just played Beethov¬ 
 en. There was something in the music that enthralled you. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With momentary rapture .] It was Beethoven, that was 
 all! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I, too, was enthralled. I saw you when you came in, and 
 I watched you. I didn’t know what it was that attracted 
 me to you—I don’t know now. I watched you, too, as you 
 
 81 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 sat alone—and I heard you mutter to yourself, disquieted, 
 as in a troubled dream. Then I leaned over to you and 
 spoke to you. You did not seem surprised. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [In a matter-of-fact tone.] No. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And why were you not surprised? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With a slight, unpleasant laugh.] Ha! I presumed I 
 wasn’t the first man you had spoken to. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Flushing.] But you were—in just that way—you were. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 And why did you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Because I felt at that moment that there was a sadness 
 in your life that claimed kinship with mine. And you did 
 not seem displeased to have me speak. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Not at all displeased. I had seen you come in, too. And 
 I liked your air. I liked the way you took possession. And 
 I had made up my mind to become acquainted with you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 How did you expect to manage it? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Would it have been so difficult? 
 
 82 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Very. I, too, have long ceased adding to my acquaint¬ 
 ances. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Then if you hadn’t chosen— 
 
 Rose. 
 
 If I hadn’t chosen to speak to you as I did, in the strange 
 impulse of the moment—we might never have met. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 That is hard to believe. Aren’t you a woman of the 
 world? Don’t we know a number of people in common? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That may be. I am a woman of the— [hesitates] — 
 world; if you choose to put it that way—known to perhaps 
 too many—but there is one right I have never waived—a 
 right which I guard more sacredly as the days go by. The 
 right to deny myself. You may not value it too highly— 
 this privilege of being one of my friends, but it may give 
 me an added value in your eyes to know that you are one 
 of the few. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Oh, don’t think I undervalue the fact. If I don’t ex¬ 
 press my satisfaction too glibly, remember that I have the 
 right to choose my own time to fumble. But I know your 
 reputation! Hobart has taken pains enough to educate me 
 on that score! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a touch of anger.] Hobart! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes—my friend—one of my few friends. 
 
 83 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [As before .] And what does Hobart know of me? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What does Hobart know of anybody—not much—only 
 everything! Hobart stands for the greatest newspaper in 
 the world, that recognizes only one crime—and that is, 
 *‘not to know.” 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And he has been enlightening you about me? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With extravagant grandeur of 
 nating! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He has belittled my reputation? 
 
 expression.] 
 
 Illumi- 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [As before.} Belittled it! Exalted it! He has painted 
 you in such colors that crowned heads should now be en¬ 
 vying me the privilege of this tete-a-tete. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Darting up in pride.} You mean this for mockery—but 
 they should, indeed ! They should ! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Continuing.} Why, you have turned a cold shoulder— 
 
 a beautiful cold shoulder upon even the king of- But 
 
 why betray the old dotard ? He has done sillier things than 
 lose his heart to the beautiful Rosamond. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [As before.} There are others on the list of dotards, 
 
 84 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 more radiant than that old fool; you can tell that to your 
 friend. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Well, in that case, how can I—I—I—you see, I am 
 fumbling at last. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I have chosen you, because—I have acquired a reputa¬ 
 tion for being select. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [A little harshly.] Now it is you who are mocking. 
 But, by Heaven, I doff my hat to no man when it comes 
 to being worthy of a woman’s favor! You owe it to me— 
 you and all your beautiful sisters—to help wipe out the 
 misery one of you has caused. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With sudden interest.] What misery is that? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Bitterly.] Do you think I shall live it over again to 
 please your idle fancy ? Ah, no! That would be too high 
 a price to pay even you! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With pained resentment.] It’s the wine that is 
 speaking! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What if it is the wine? Let’s be thankful for it! It is 
 unmasking our souls—it is helping us to reach each other 
 aright. Well [with an assumed swagger], beautiful Rosa¬ 
 mond, you have conquered me! Crowned heads can go 
 hang, and so can Hobart, with his fine phrases of sur- 
 
 85 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 rendered manhood! I love you, beautiful Rosamond, just 
 as ardently and deeply as any man can lie about! And, by 
 Heaven, I will pay your price! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Tries to speak. Her voice fails her. She bursts into 
 tears, and sinks sobbing upon the seat.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [,Suddenly realizing his position, makes a desperate ef¬ 
 fort to pull himself together.] My God! What a miser¬ 
 able coward I am! [Goes to her.] Don’t cry! I am not 
 worth your tears! I ask your pardon. [He kneels to her 
 —she weeps silently.] I don’t know how to deal with 
 women, they are all so different. You see, my fatal fluency 
 plunged me into such a torrent of words, I didn’t know 
 what I was saying. I can’t blame Hobart for everything 
 —but I can blame him for a good deal. But I am a fool— 
 a miserable, wretched fool. [All this has been said with 
 honest simplicity, and he breaks down utterly at the close.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Recovering, lays her hand upon his head.] You are 
 only a boy. A wayward, unhappy boy. You didn’t know 
 —you didn’t know ! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No. I couldn’t have known. [He has risen.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 It is your youth, and the ignorance of youth that has 
 fascinated me. For, with all the worldly wisdom that you 
 assume, your heart is as guileless as a child’s. What right 
 have I, with my bitter knowledge, to expect you to under¬ 
 stand ? 
 
 86 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 % 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What bitter knowledge can you have that I have not? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I am a woman—and to a woman, knowledge is bitterness 
 in itself—to a man it is only progress. I am going to leave 
 you. But I want to make a confession to you before I go. 
 Will you hear it? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Why should you go? You have forgiven me? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes, but will you hear my confession? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes. [Slight pause.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I meant it all, when I said I had chosen you out of many, 
 and I had come to-day to tell you so. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rosamond! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I know your friend Hobart has told you the kind of 
 woman I am—Rosamond, with her villa by the sea, and 
 her splendid sins. He may be right or he may be wrong. 
 What does he know, save from common report? But the 
 same right I hold to deny has given me the right to be¬ 
 stow. I am a free agent. No living soul has any claim on 
 me. You speak of my reputation. What do I care for 
 that? I forfeited that long ago, and I did it with my eyes 
 open—because I dared to do it. And because I defied 
 those who valued it so highly that they demanded my 
 
 87 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 degradation. Let them answer if they have been satisfied. 
 Beyond this, my life does not concern you. But there is 
 that in yours that has made its silent appeal—an unspoken 
 charm of sorrow that has drawn you to me. Yes—even now 
 it is whispering insidiously into my ear “surrender.” I 
 should have fought against this with heart and brain a 
 year ago, but now—what have I to lose? 
 
 “To say of shame—what is it? 
 
 Of virtue, we can miss it, 
 
 Of sin—we can but kiss it, 
 
 And it’s no longer sin.” 
 
 [As he embraces her, she frees herself.] And so—good 
 bye! [Extends her hand.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Taken aback.] Surely you are not going to say good 
 bye? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Not until you tell me when and where we shall meet 
 again. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Why should we meet? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Have all your words meant nothing? Have you been 
 kindling a fire in my soul, only to laugh at it? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Have I kindled a fire there? What is this fire? 
 
 88 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What matters the name I give it? If it be not love, it is 
 a strange, mad longing, that calls out to you—I want you, 
 Rosamond. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 As a plaything! As others have wanted me! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Can we afford to laugh at the passion the gods have 
 planted in our breasts ? You have bewitched me—you have 
 bewildered me. I have had my full share of misery, let me 
 forget it in your arms. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But your friend has warned you—I am a dangerous 
 woman! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I want you for the dangers I may brave! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Feverishly extracting a letter from the folds of her 
 dress.] Read this—read this —[gives it to him] it is from 
 the Baron de Graff. 
 
 Your lover! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With supreme contempt.] My lover! Read it! Read it! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Reading silently.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Speaks while he reads.] For months he has importuned 
 me. He has even compromised me. His name has been 
 
 89 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 linked with mine, and no doubt a hundred times by your 
 all-wise friend; but read—read. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Having read, with excitement.] Why, he offers you a 
 king’s ransom, and implores- 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Cutting him short.] No, he does not implore —he de¬ 
 mands. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 And what answer have you sent him? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Tearing the letter into hits, as if the act were one of 
 banishment, speaks with supreme scorn.] He left for 
 Austria this morning, with insults and curses upon his lips, 
 an d I am proud and happy in this hour—whatever comes 
 with years. Shall I tell you why ? Because—branded, 
 though I am—I can indulge myself in the luxury of my 
 own choice. Do you understand ? But I have my price! 
 [In a tone of great elation.] I have my price! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rosamond ! What do you mean ? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I will tell you to-night—in my arms—and you will pay 
 it. Say that you love me! I know it will be a lie, but the 
 recording angel will blot it out, for it will be a glint of 
 
 happiness in a life that has been all delusion! Say it— 
 say it! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rosamond—I—I- [She chokes off the word.] 
 
 90 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No—no, it would be a sacrilege—but you do prize the 
 gift I am throwing at your feet? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Embracing her.] Rosamond! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 This is my hour of madness—but it is the madness of 
 joy. Listen—my villa nestles at the foot of the hill. But 
 a short distance from the Hotel de Paris at Monte Carlo, 
 as you turn towards the sea. It is overgrown with jasmine 
 and roses. You will find it. Come to me there—to-night! 
 We shall be all alone—you and I—and the silent stars. 
 You will come? 
 
 [As he moves to embrace her she leaves him, his face 
 illumined with wonder and transport.] 
 
 [The curtain falls.] 
 
 End of Act II. 
 
 91 
 
ACT III. 
 
 SCENE: “Rosamond’s Bozuer.” [A richly furnished in¬ 
 terior, zvith zvindows at the back that open upon a balcony 
 overlooking the starlit Mediterranean Sea, zvith its deep, 
 wonderful blue. Through the open zvin dozes stringed music 
 floats from the waters, the melody a reminiscence of the 
 previous act.* A bedroom adjoins the boudoir, zvhere the 
 inznsible Rosamond, supposedly disrobing, is heard to 
 speak, from time to time, during the opening conversation.] 
 
 Ford is DISCOVERED upon the balcony, first looking 
 out towards sky and sea, then turning towards the inner 
 room. He draws a deep sigh of mingled pain and pleasure, 
 and then murmurs, zvith deep feeling. 
 
 It is so beautiful, it almost hurts. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [From the adjoining room—in a tender voice.] Are you 
 talking to yourself or me? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What does it matter? Speech means so little. The poetry 
 of it all loses in the utterance. Why don’t you come? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [As before.] I am trying to manage without my maid, 
 as you know, and that has its difficulties. 
 
 * The incidental melody *' Silent Stars of Night ” can be obtained of the publisher, Chas. K. 
 Harris. New York. 
 
 92 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 No doubt. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Have you ever read that fairy tale of Grimm’s, in which 
 the maiden Rapunzel is besought to let down her hair? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Quoting it sentimentally.] ‘“Rapunzel! Rapunzel! 
 Let down your hair!” 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Yes, but letting down her hair must have been a simpler 
 process in those days. With the intricacies of modern 
 hair dressing, I can’t imagine Rapunzel obeying that be¬ 
 hest without some consideration. [Wg/w.] “Rapunzel! 
 Rapunzel! Let down your hair.” It haunts me. How did 
 she ever do it without her maid? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 History doesn’t say whether she had a maid or not. [He 
 comes down.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Oh, surely! In her little romance there couldn’t have 
 been a third, any more than in ours. Poetry demands its 
 sacrifices, you know. But it is hard to be self-reliant in 
 such a moment as this. I shall have to choose my own 
 gown—think of having to make that mental effort all alone. 
 Could I be showing you a greater mark of distinction? 
 What is your favorite color? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I have none. I love all colors. Just color for color’s 
 sake. [He sits.] 
 
 93 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 My poet lover is complacent to-night—but think how 
 dreadful it would be if I took him at his word. I look 
 hideous in some colors. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I don’t believe it. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And even if one poet has called us “a rag, and a bone, 
 and a hank of hair,” at heart, he’s just as exacting about 
 that particular rag as the rest of us. Are you getting tired 
 of waiting? I shan’t be long. Talk to yourself some more. 
 I love to hear you. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I don’t think you would, if I were really talking to my¬ 
 self. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Why ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Self-communing is not a very happy pursuit with me. If 
 I were really alone, even this wondrous beauty would have 
 its bitterness. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That is no mood in which to greet the little god who has 
 drawn us together. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Who shall say the little god has done it? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Who shall say he has not? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Rising.] How all the glories of the night would be- 
 
 94 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 come intensified if that were so. If I were really your 
 
 lover, if that mysterious you —with all your potent charm_ 
 
 were, let us say, that lover’s bride—what a different rap¬ 
 ture would swell our breasts! How all the magic of this 
 scene, which even now, though we know we are but trifling 
 with the sacred fire, stirs us to a semblance of joy—how 
 it would then uplift and exalt us! There would be no room 
 for bitterness and gall. But that is the curse and cost of 
 worldliness—it shows us the tinsel of fairyland—and makes 
 a pastime of our passions. [He moves towards the balcony 
 again.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Do you think that your worldliness and mine are just the 
 same ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 They may differ in degree, but not in kind. We buy il¬ 
 lusions, and call them pleasures. [On the balcony.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Are you sure they are illusions and nothing more? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 As sure as I am that this wonderful spot, Monte Carlo, 
 is known to the world, not for its beauty, but for its wicked 
 pleasures. But some day I shall write a book. It will deal 
 with this place, and the soul-entrancing drive that brings 
 us here along the Corniche Road. And though famous 
 places, like famous people, are best known by their sins, 
 there shall not be a word in it about the Casino, or the 
 gaming tables—just about its marvelous self, reveling in 
 the beauty God has robed it in. [He drinks in the scene.] 
 
 95 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Will it be in prose ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I shall have to write it in prose, but it will be felt in 
 poetry [with a smile], which may prevent its ever being 
 written at all [returning to the room], for even the pen 
 can fumble, you know. [He has returned into the room 
 and meets Rose.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [ENTERING, in silken dishabille, her hair loosely 
 caught in a coil, her neck bare, a picture of sweetness, 
 grace, and self-surrender.] And what do you call poetry? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Entranced by the sight of her.] You! [He attempts 
 to embrace her.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Gently disengaging herself as she rests upon his 
 shoulder.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 How am I going to resist all this loveliness? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I don’t want you to resist it. But this is to be a lover’s 
 journey through wonderland. We do not want to rush to 
 the end of it [very softly], but linger on the way, lest we 
 should miss a single stage of its happiness. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With boyish resignation.] And how shall we begin this 
 journey? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Here, like this. You shall sit at my feet, and look up 
 
 96 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 into my eyes while you speak. [She places a stool for him, 
 and sits on a cushioned scat above him.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Seated as directed.] Speak! While I am silenced with 
 your beauty! [He gathers her two hands and kisses their 
 palms.] I can’t speak. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 That doesn’t sound a bit worldly. You who have taken 
 such an accurate measure of your own feelings shouldn’t try 
 to mislead mine. After all, I think my estimate of you is 
 the true one. Was I not right when I said you were a boy? 
 My sweet, wayward, darling boy. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Well, if to be overcome by your charm and grace is to 
 be a boy, I am a boy. But an eager and impatient one. 
 [He lays his head on her lap and clasps her knees.] It 
 seems long ago that my boyish spirit forsook me. But it 
 returns to me to-night. I am almost happy. 
 
 Happy in a delusion? 
 Yes. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 For that is what I am, you know. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With a sigh.] I know—and I am clasping you for the 
 happiness it brings. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But does it bring happiness ? Isn’t that the bitterest part 
 
 97 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 of it? As I hold you close, like this [she caresses him], if 
 I were not a little schooled in that worldly knowledge you 
 profess—I might be deceived. If I didn’t know, I might 
 think it love. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No one would chide you for it. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But the little god would be laughing at me. And I might 
 be deceiving you with the belief that I loved you in return. 
 And we should begin our journey with deceit; that, some¬ 
 how, would rob it of its charm. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Isn’t that part of the game we are playing? 
 
 [A little sadly.] 
 it is only a game. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 True. True. 
 Ford. 
 
 How could you forget? 
 
 I must not forget that 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Pained.] To be sure. How could I forget? What 
 writer is it that speaks of the trick of the senses? For a 
 brief moment mine had tricked me. And as I caught your 
 frank and boyish look I was almost deceived. You couldn't 
 think that I loved you? Could you? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I don’t know what I think. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Or that you love me? 
 
 98 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What difference does it make? I am happy to-night- 
 happy for the first time in many months. I don’t ask what 
 it is that makes me so. Whatever it is, you have brought 
 it to me. It is the touch of you. It is the strange light in 
 your eyes—it is the fragrance of your breath. God only 
 knows what it is—but it is you. And I wish to hold it fast. 
 [Clasps her fervently.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In a tone of elation, in his arms.] And to think that 
 every word you utter might be translated into love— if we 
 
 did not know - [Calming herself.] You were angry 
 
 with me to-day for asking why you were unhappy. Are 
 you still angry with me for wanting to know ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Years have passed since this afternoon. Something 
 seems to give you the right to ask now. But why should 
 you want to know ? I have forgotten sorrow. Is it not 
 enough for you to feel that you have banished it ? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Some woman made you unhappy. That I know. But I 
 am a woman, and I must plead my sister’s cause. What 
 had you done? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Rising, and finding a tone of bitterness.] What had I 
 done? That is the mockery and the misery of it! If I 
 could only answer that question, then, perhaps, I should 
 find a surcease of that sorrow that has made me play the 
 fool—the fool who even now is frittering away his life. 
 But because I cannot answer it, I am doomed to self-tor- 
 
 99 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 ture. What had I done, indeed! Do you think it was 
 through any fault of mine? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In equal agitation.] It was through no fault of yours? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No! But how can you understand! How can you un¬ 
 derstand ! [In mental distress, he throws himself upon the 
 cushioned .sraj.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [After a pause, during which she shows what effect 
 his zvords have made upon her, goes over to him, clasps his 
 head and kisses his forehead, as she speaks zvith much 
 feeling.] Oh, yes, I-can understand—my poor, poor boy! 
 [A gradual change comes over him, as his momentary an¬ 
 ger yields to her physical charm.] 
 
 Don’t! Don’t! 
 What ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Don’t kiss my forehead. That’s in pity, 
 pity! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 They say that pity is akin to- 
 
 I don’t want 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I know what it is akin to. But I don’t want that kind 
 of love. I am not really a boy. It is part of the comedy 
 you are playing to call me one. It has been my part to 
 play the boy. It’s easy enough! The first dawn of a new 
 
 ioo 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 passion puts the boy into all our hearts. I know that, be¬ 
 cause I am a man! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Bending over him, brings him under the influence of her 
 charm. His head upon her breast , she murmurs soothe 
 ingly.\ I know ! I know ! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With intensity, in a hoarse voice.] If I am to kiss you 
 —let me kiss your lips. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Why, they are here for you to kiss. But not yet—not 
 yet. There is so much I want you to know before our lips 
 meet. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What more do I want to know—than that you are you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Close to him, their faces almost touching .] 
 what am I? 
 
 My queen! 
 
 For to-night. But 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 there is a morrow. 
 
 But who and 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Let to-morrow wait. You are my queen to-night. 
 [Clasps her in his arms passionately.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Still denying him her lips.] Sweetheart—listen—just 
 for a moment. You think it is easy for me to surrender 
 —well—perhaps it is. But until you know what I have to 
 tell, you will not be able to understand why I hesitate. 
 
 IOI 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [With returning bitterness.] You have not repented of 
 your bargain? You do not wish me to leave you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a touch of pain.] Do not call it a bargain. See 
 [clasping him to her heart], does this look as though I 
 wanted you to leave? But by the love you once bore— 
 no—not her —for she was false—but by the most sacred 
 love you ever knew—I conjure you, do not call this meet¬ 
 ing of ours by that name. It was a bargain, I know—and 
 I am here to carry out my share of it. But in the name of 
 all the beauty and mystery of love, let us not think of it in 
 that way. If we can cheat ourselves into a feeling that is 
 so nearly love, let us still further cheat ourselves into giving 
 it a holier name. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But why should we cheat ourselves at all? You and I 
 belong to the same world. We drink of the same delights. 
 We triumph in the same possession. Will our transports 
 be lessened by candor? If one word doesn’t suit, we can 
 choose another. What are words; we both know the truth 
 —and it is the truth that has drawn us together! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Terrified, eludes him.] No—no—you do not know the 
 truth. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Then you deny me the right to hold and kiss you? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No—no, I deny you nothing. God knows if there were 
 
 102 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 a thousand rights, I should give them to you all, but you 
 must listen—you must be calm. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Calm ! That is the woman of it! Calm ! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And who shall tell you that it is not I who have the 
 greater task in being calm? The woman of it, indeed! 
 What do you know of the fire in her soul? You must hear 
 my story. It is not for my sake, but your own. When you 
 have heard it—take me. I am yours—your plaything, your 
 goddess, your highest, your lowest, your all in all! Now 
 will you hear me? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 My God! What can you have to tell ? 
 
 [A pause.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 It is no long history, but it must begin somewhere. When 
 I left my mother’s house a year ago, I was to have been 
 married to a man I loved, loved as deeply as you must 
 have loved her whom you did not marry. This man— 
 learning that I was [she bows her head and lozvers her 
 voice ] an illegitimate child, brought me the news, and cast 
 me off. Through no fault of mine he cast me off. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 The cur! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Do you see how our lives run parallel? My sorrow and 
 remorse gave way to bitter hatred. If the world had really 
 cast me out I would give it cause. I came to Paris, de- 
 
 103 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 termined to be avenged—but on whom? In the blindness 
 of my wrath I didn't see that I alone should be the victim. 
 I was surrounded by men of rank and wealth. I learned 
 soon enough the grim lesson of the half-world, that men 
 hunger for what they can’t obtain, and indifference is the 
 only gift that pays. The last shred of respectability seemed 
 torn from me, and I took comfort in the thought that one 
 at home would have it on his conscience, when some day 
 he should hear of my downward path! My downward 
 path! Ha! where was it leading me to ? I left Paris 
 and came here. A dozen, fifty, a hundred times I had 
 been on the point of yielding all —that absolutely last of 
 all 1 But no! Something within me rebelled! I could 
 blind the whole world—I could not blind myself! I was 
 degraded in the eyes of men and women who did not know 
 —but never—as God is my judge—never could / who did 
 know—degrade myself to that. [With a shudder.] No! 
 Not to that! Some hidden hand reached out—some 
 buried voice awoke, some conscience, some soul, some 
 nameless, inborn spirit held me back! And that spark, 
 which only burns in the breast of a good, pure woman, 
 has never been extinguished in mine! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Amazed.] What do you mean? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Tarnished, declassed, shamed for seeking shame, if you 
 will, but the woman you have chosen for your queen to¬ 
 night could not look into your eyes more fearlessly, more 
 unfalteringly, if you had chosen her for your bride. 
 
 [A deep pause.] 
 
 104 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Awed.] Then who and what am I that I should be 
 here, and by what miracle have you been led to me ? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You are my chosen lover. It is the souks hunger that 
 has led me to you. The girl I was a year ago could have 
 gone with her lover to the altar of the church and become 
 his wife. There is no altar for such as I—save that which 
 we build for ourselves with our passionate hearts. To this 
 altar I have come. It is the vanquished woman, at last, 
 who speaks. [She hows her head.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Goes to her, with deep feeling.] Rosamond! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Dearest! [She sinks into his arms. He kisses her eyes, 
 and with deep tenderness strokes her hair. The distant 
 music rises and falls.] 
 
 [A pause.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I feel as though I had come to the end of a long jour¬ 
 ney. Weary of body, but with soul elate. Oh, the sweet 
 rest of it! [Comforting herself in his arms.] And oh! 
 The glad joy! Kiss me, kiss my lips! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No. Not your lips. [Kisses her face and her hair, and 
 then her hands, which he holds.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And why not my lips ? 
 
 105 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 I dare not. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Dare not, in this hour of your triumph! 
 of all men in the world—yours alone? 
 
 Am I not yours 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No, darling. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 You do not believe me, then? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 It is because I believe that I dare not. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 I do not understand. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But you shall. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Continuing.] I only know that Fate has guarded me 
 for this hour, to lay me, a willing sacrifice, upon your 
 heart. Do not speak, but kiss me. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But will you not hear me before it is too late? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 It is too late. The last bridge has been crossed, we are 
 on the shores of Paradise. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rosamond, we must part. 
 
 106 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Startled.] Part? [In a fever of self-questioning.] Be¬ 
 cause I have bared my soul to you? Because I am not 
 the wanton you believed me when you bargained for me ? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Do not use that word. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Intensely.] I must. It was your word—and there is 
 no other. Am I less fair to-night than I was at noon? 
 You bargained for me then. You bade me name my price, 
 so that you might pay it. [With a burst of elation.] 
 There Is no price—only kiss for kiss! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 There is a far greater—too great for me to pay! [A 
 short pause of wonder.] Ah, Rosamond, hear me! [He 
 goes close to her; she places her hand over his lips.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 No! No! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Removing her hand.] It would be easy enough for me 
 to yield. Every pulse in my veins is pleading your cause. 
 But there is a spark in every honest man's breast that he 
 dare not let die. I have never laid violent hands upon a 
 sacred shrine. I can’t, Rosamond, I cannot! Do you think 
 that a woman’s purity counts for so little in my eyes that 
 I can wantonly lay it waste? A man may be of coarser 
 fibre, but deep in his nature there is something akin to the 
 holiest in yours. Something that God gave to his mother, 
 and his mother gave to him! 
 
 107 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Having listened, deeply impressed, now stands lost in 
 azved silence.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Continues passionately.] You will understand it all 
 more clearly some day—and you will place to my credit 
 the outcome of this night—and what the parting means 
 to me in self-denial. But I am only human, and I must go! 
 [Resists the inviting passion of her lips.] Good bye! [He 
 dashes out. A pause. The front door is heard closing.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Voiceless up to now, in a conflict of emotion, cries out 
 in a tone of intense longing.] Come back! [and sink¬ 
 ing upon the seat, sobs in a voice of infinite feeling.] I 
 love you ! I love you ! 
 
 [The music is heard in the distance as the curtain falls.] 
 
 [End of Act III.] 
 
 \ 
 
 108 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE: Walter Hobart’s sitting room in the hotel 
 at Monte Carlo. It is about nine in the morning. The 
 room bears evidence of an all-night session. The blinds 
 are still down and the electric lights ablaze. 
 
 Hobart is completing his morning toilet at a mirror, 
 zvhile Ford, pale and distracted, is seated at a little table, 
 on which liquors and siphons are in evidence. He is dressed 
 as in the previous act. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I think, Ford, I have gathered all the material facts. I 
 certainly ought have by this time. Do you realize how long 
 this session of ours has lasted? \Looks at clock .] Nine 
 o’clock! I think four hours ought to be enough for even 
 the densest mind to comprehend the situation. Let us let 
 the light of day in on it. [ Pulls up blinds and extinguishes 
 lights.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 But how do I know that you have comprehended it? Not 
 by any word you have spoken. You have expressed sur¬ 
 prise, that was all. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 The human brain is not capable of two sets of emotions 
 at one and the same time. When you routed me out of 
 
 109 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 bed at five o’clock this morning, and bade me not to say a 
 word, but just listen, I obeyed. For four hours I have lis¬ 
 tened. I have not exhausted the one set of emotions. 
 What may follow my surprise I am not prepared to say. 
 There’s one thing, however, I shall have to do, as a direct 
 result of your confidence, which I rather resent. [Goes to 
 escritoire at back.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What is that? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Destroy about a dozen pages of the most interesting 
 material contained in my article on the Riviera. [He finds 
 the pages, and tears them into bits.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Impressed by this, rises.] Hobart, there’s something 
 fine about you—damned if there isn’t. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Very likely. But this doesn’t prove it. My boss, the 
 yachtsman, makes us verify things before we print them 
 —and in the light of recent developments I wouldn’t care 
 to stand the yachtsman s test. So much for my profes¬ 
 sional attitude in the matter. Now for my personal. I 
 take it that the last thing you are looking for in your pres¬ 
 ent frame of mind is advice. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I won’t say that. Why have I told you all this? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 There s a blessing in the gift of speech, just for the re¬ 
 lief it gives the speaker. But you do not want advice— 
 
 no 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 you would not be worthy of all that flood of feeling if you 
 listened to it. You will work out your destiny in your 
 own way, and all you will expect of me is to slap you on the 
 back and say, “Well done!” 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No matter how I shall work it out? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 No matter how. But this much I do know. You will 
 have to provide yourself with a clear outlook before you 
 find your solution, and for that purpose you need sleep. 
 You haven’t slept, to my knowledge, for twenty-four hours. 
 Go in there. Lie down. I will close the door. You shall 
 not be disturbed for an hour, at least. You will be amazed 
 what an effect an hour’s sleep, taken at a crisis, will have 
 on a man’s life. [Leading him to the bedroom.] And 
 while you are sleeping, you can transfer to me all the ex¬ 
 cess of mentality that is now disturbing you. That will 
 give me the time I need to shift from one set of emotions 
 to the other. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Starts to speak, changes his mind—gratefully clasps 
 Hobart’s hand, and allows himself to be led off into the 
 adjoining room.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [At the door.] If I should be called away before you 
 wake I’ll leave any message for you on the alarm clock! 
 [He goes to his telephone and notifies the office that he 
 wants a hallboy. He comes down to the table, takes pen 
 and paper, and begins to zvrite a letter, becoming absorbed. 
 
 hi 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 A knock at the door is unheeded; then repeated. After a 
 pause the door opens, and Langhorn appears timidly.] 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I beg pardon. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Not looking up.] Just a moment, 
 this note I am writing to Room 74. 
 
 I want you to take 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Fancy that! I have just come from there. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Eh! [Looking up.] Why, hello, Langhorn! I was ex¬ 
 pecting the hallboy. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I gathered that you were expecting somebody. You said 
 something about Room 74. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I am sending this note to Miss Laura. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 She isn’t there. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 There’s some mystery. Some delightful little mystery. 
 I love little mysteries, and it’s always my good fortune to 
 be in one of them. But I need help this time. I need help. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [A little impatiently.] You look it! 
 
 112 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Fancy my receiving a summons at nine o’clock this 
 morning, rousing me from my soft repose. [Chuckling.] 
 Ho! Ho! I don’t get soft repose every morning—not at 
 Monte Carlo. No, indeed! But last night was one of my 
 particularly solemn and virtuous nights—I went to bed at 
 eleven! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Do come to the point, Langhorn. The messenger will 
 be here in a minute. [Knock at the door.] There he is 
 now. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Send him away. You won’t need him. Miss Laura is 
 not there, I tell you. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Puzzled, goes to the door, and dismisses unseen mes¬ 
 senger in pantomime, Langhorn talking during the ac¬ 
 tion.] 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 My summons was from Mrs. Winfield-Chase. She was 
 alarmed. She had been awakened at an unusually early 
 hour by Laura, who was dressing to go out. Mamma was 
 too sleepy to ask a lot of questions, so she dozed off again, 
 and when she was awakened for good, Laura was gone. 
 Fancy—gone out at nine a. m. Nobody goes out at Monte 
 Carlo at nine a. m. —that is—nobody that I know. So 
 what does Mrs. Winfield-Chase do, but send for her Ju¬ 
 lius ! There is one thing I will say for Miriam, when she 
 is in doubt, she sends for Julius! She may affect to spurn 
 him under ordinary circumstances, but give her a crisis— 
 and her first impulse is to send for Julius. Do you know, I 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 like that! It makes me feel like a factor in her life! I 
 love to feel like a factor! Now, what does Miriam say to 
 me, when I answer her summons, but: “Find Laura!” 
 Just as she might say: “Pass me the pickles!” “Find 
 Laura!” And what could I say in response, on the in¬ 
 stant, but: “Certainly, my dear.” And she bade me go 
 forth, and I have gone forth. Now, won’t you please tell 
 me where Laura is, so that I may find her? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Don’t be absurd. [Seriously.] Do I understand you to 
 say that Mrs. Chase really does not know where Laura is? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Well, ’pon my soul, what is the use of giving you all 
 these eloquent details, if you can ask such a simple ques¬ 
 tion as that? What am I here for? I am told to find 
 Laura—and what more natural than- 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Ask me to find her for you! Is that your idea of serv¬ 
 ing people in a crisis? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Can’t you tell me where she is ? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I haven’t the slightest idea. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Why, she is your fiancee. You certainly are the first 
 one she would go to. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I see you are working on a theory, at least. I didn’t 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 give you credit even for that. But I am as much surprised 
 as anybody that she should have left the hotel so early in 
 the morning, though I refuse to be alarmed about it. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I am glad to hear you say that. That’s what I said to 
 Miriam. “Don’t be alarmed! Don’t be alarmed!” But 
 it didn’t have much effect. It’s mysterious, you must admit 
 —it’s mysterious—and if it were not, as I said before, that 
 I do like a little mystery- 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Just where do you propose to look for her? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Where do I ? If you fail me, I shall feel rather foolish. 
 I don’t quite know how to reason this thing out. I try to 
 put myself in Laura’s place. I ask, where would a young 
 girl be likely to go to in Monte Carlo, so early in the 
 morning, without her mother’s knowledge—and, by Jove, 
 I’m up a blind alley. I keep thinking of the silly story I 
 read in one of the papers, of the man who offered a re¬ 
 ward in the village to any one who would find his missing 
 horse, and when a yokel did find him and return him to 
 the owner, the owner asked how did he manage to do it, 
 and the yokel said: “I thought out where / would be likely 
 to go to, if / were a horse, and I went there and found 
 him!” 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Laughs I] 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 But, somehow or other, that doesn’t fit my case. I 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 can't for the life of me think where I would go to, if I were 
 a horse— [quickly correcting himself ] Miss Laura! 
 
 [They laugh. A knock is heard upon the door. The 
 laughter ceases.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Come in! 
 
 [ENTER Laura.] 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 By Jove! Talk of the- 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [To Hobart.] I want just a word—it is urgent. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I’m so glad you’ve shown up. I’ve been sent out to 
 search for you. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Mother was too sleepy to understand my explanation. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 Now that I have found you, I will report at once. 
 
 Please don’t. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 But she has been worrying dreadfully. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 She won’t have to worry much longer. I shall go to her 
 directly. 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 But if I return without you? 
 
 116 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Don’t. Can’t you lose yourself for ten minutes? 
 
 Langhorn. 
 
 I might try. Monte Carlo is an excellent place to lose 
 oneself in. I will give your mother a very elaborate ac¬ 
 count of my search. I may have to invent a marvelous 
 line of travel—but it will have to end here—so if in ten 
 minutes she should come in personal pursuit—don’t be sur¬ 
 prised. But you may depend upon me—I shall go on the 
 wildest kind of a goose chase in search of you in the mean¬ 
 while. And with these few remarks, Julius will go forth 
 with a sense of duty well performed. So-long! [Waves 
 his hand to both, and departs.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 What has happened? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [With some agitation.] I received a letter early this 
 morning. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 From whom? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 It was signed “Rose.” But before I tell you about it, 
 Walter, [She presses her hand fervently] you won’t up¬ 
 braid me! I was right, dear, yesterday, when I told you 
 I recognized her. It threatened a breach between you and 
 me —then—and I hardly know now how you will receive 
 the news that I bring. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Quietly.] You have just come from Rosamond’s house. 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [In almost inaudible surprise, she nods her head.] Yes. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Stroking her hair.] Go on, my dear. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 She told me her story—little by little, 
 knew the beginning. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I do know it. 
 
 Oh, if you only 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Amazed.] You do! What do you mean? 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 When you have finished- 
 
 Laura. 
 
 What more shall I tell you? Walter, what is to become 
 of her? She is going away. Where to? She couldn’t, or 
 wouldn’t, tell. But, surely, there must be some one to ad¬ 
 vise. As that thought came to me, with it came the 
 thought of the mother whom she needed, and I thought of 
 my mother. What should I be without her? What if she 
 would take her mother’s place! Oh, if I could only bring 
 this about! If you, Walter, could help me. And you will! 
 For with all your cool, discerning brain, you are my true 
 and gallant lover, with a warm, tender heart that you may 
 conceal, but you can’t disown! And I want your head and 
 your heart both—for there is a life’s happiness in the bal¬ 
 ance. [She finishes, pleadingly, in his arms.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 My brave little girl! How can I resist you! You have 
 
 118 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 captured my love and my logic in one raid. [Caressing 
 her.] Now let’s figure this thing out together. You seem 
 to attach great importance to the meeting of Rosamond 
 with your mother. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Surely. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Who shall agree, when doctors disagree? Not that I’m 
 going to oppose that idea; on the contrary. But in all en¬ 
 terprises of life the greater absorbs the less. I am going 
 to bring about an even more vital meeting. You and I 
 shall assist destiny. How does that strike you? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 It sounds wonderful! 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 I, too, had an early morning visitor. And I am in a 
 better position to understand the true import of your story, 
 from having heard both sides of it. 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Why—Walter—what- 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Sh-h-h. [Silencing her with a little comic pantomime 
 directed towards the bedroom.] Don’t let us wake the 
 god out of the machine before his time. [She expresses 
 amazement.] Listen. You are to bring the party in ques¬ 
 tion to a meeting with your mother, at this hotel. Can 
 you do it? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Why, she is waiting for a word from me over the phone. 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Send her that word. [As she starts.] But wait a mo¬ 
 ment. You don’t know yet how we are going to assist 
 destiny. These are your mother’s rooms—that is to say, 
 they become so in this instance—for destiny’s express pur¬ 
 pose. Do you begin to grasp my idea? How many min¬ 
 utes is the distance to be traveled? 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Not more than five. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Destiny is in luck! Npw you can summon your party 
 of the first part. Do so in the office downstairs [with pan¬ 
 tomime, as before], for obvious reasons. Meet her below, 
 and bring her up here. Then Destiny can take the case 
 into her own hands and dismiss her understudies. You 
 will join me in Room 74, where I shall be waiting for you 
 [with a twinkle] with mother. And as a final postscript 
 —should there be anything unforeseen to add to these ar¬ 
 rangements, I will leave a note for you on this table. [De¬ 
 dicates it.] 
 
 [Laura kisses him, with much enthusiasm, and goes 
 out.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 [Left alone for a moment, scratches his head in thought. 
 Then he gets alarm clock, and brings it with him to table, 
 sits and scribbles on a card which he attaches to the clock. 
 As he starts for bedroom, knock is heard at door.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Come! 
 
 120 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 [ENTER Mrs. Winfield-Chase.] 
 
 [Hobart rises .] 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Pardon me, Walter, but Mr. Langhorn said I should 
 find Laura with you. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 You must have passed her in the elevator. You will 
 probably find her in your room by the time you return. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 From his account, he must have been looking for her in 
 the most extraordinary places. I should have thought he 
 would have come here first. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 One would have thought so. When you return to your 
 room, I should like the pleasure of accompanying you. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Oh, thank you so much. I do want to talk with you. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Oh, it’s a very simple thing. But will you pardon me 
 while I take this clock into the next room ? It won’t take a 
 minute. Then I shall be entirely at your service. [Goes 
 off with the clock into the bedroom , and returns at once.] 
 Now I am ready. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 It’s a singular coincidence, but do you recall, Walter, 
 that yesterday Laura insisted on the resemblance of a cer¬ 
 tain person to a friend of ours in Washington? 
 
 121 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 I have just received a letter from the mother of this 
 very friend. It contains some remarkable information. 
 Would you care to see it? [Producing letter.] 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Thank you. [She hands him the letter. He scans it.] 
 May I keep it for a while? 
 
 Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
 
 Yes, if you like. I should like to talk it over with you. 
 
 Hobart. 
 
 Shall we go below? [She nods. Going to the door, he 
 opens it for her.] I will join you in a second. 
 
 [She goes through the door, he hurries hack to the table, 
 previously indicated, and lays the letter he has just re¬ 
 ceived on it conspicuously; then follows Mrs. Winfield- 
 Chase off.] 
 
 [A slight pause.] 
 
 [The alarm clock goes off in the adjoining room. Not 
 too long. Then a pause.] 
 
 [Voice of Ford, as if talking to himself .] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 It’s God’s own sunlight. 
 
 [He is supposed to have awakened and found the note on 
 the clock.] 
 
 [Another pause.] 
 
 [During this pause, music from the hotel orchestra is 
 heard playing the melody of previous act.] 
 
 122 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 [After a reasonable space of time, voices of Laura and 
 Rosamond are heard outside hall door.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 [Outside.] Here we are. 
 
 [ENTER Laura, followed by Rosamond, veiled.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Mother will join us in a minute. [She immediately 
 goes to table and finds letter. She scans it quickly, and 
 decides at once what to do with it.] [Rosamond has re¬ 
 moved her veil.] 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Here is something that may interest you. [Hands letter 
 to Rosamond, who is seated, and as the latter opens it, 
 during which action a printed slip falls out on the floor, 
 Laura silently withdraws from the room.] 
 
 [Rosamond picks up the slip, and reads it with emo¬ 
 tion. She reads the letter through, then wipes a tear from 
 her eyes, and is lost in thought.] 
 
 [ENTER Ford, with Hobart’s card in his hand.] 
 
 Rosamond! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Surprised, rises quickly.] You—you 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [In excitement.] He told me the truth! He said you 
 would come! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In bewilderment.] What do you mean? Where is Mrs. 
 Winfield-Chase ? 
 
 123 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What do I know—and what do I care! I wake from a 
 dream to find the dream come true. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But I am to meet Laura’s mother here! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Here, in Hobart’s rooms? 
 
 Rose. 
 
 These are Hobart’s rooms? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Yes. Didn’t you know ? He left me this note. I didn’t 
 quite grasp it when I read it. It speaks of assisting des¬ 
 tiny by letting you believe you were going to meet Laura’s 
 mother. I understand it now! It was to give me the 
 glorious chance of seeing you again! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 He did this! He—Hobart—by what miracle? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 We had neither of us understood his nature. It has 
 more than a practical side, begotten by his craft—he is full 
 of a high purpose, like all who have loved and suffered 
 —like us. Rosamond, I told him of what I had lived 
 through since last night. And this is his answer. He has 
 brought you to me. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 And did you wish it? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 It is a prayer fulfilled. 
 
 124 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In sweet amazement.] Your prayer fulfilled? 
 
 Mine. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But we did part—we parted—in farewell! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 No—not in farewell, for [with deep feeling] I love you. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Moved.] You love me? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 I know it now. Through the hours of self-questioning 
 that have passed since I held you in my arms, my heart 
 has beaten but one response. I love you. I love you. [He 
 attempts to take her in his arms.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With a vague fear.] Do you know that it is love? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 If it is not, why should I fear to lose you? And oh, 
 Rosamond, if I should fail to kindle in your heart the true 
 passion that is in mine- 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [With throbbing fervor.] Fail! Did you not hear my 
 soul’s cry when you left me! It seemed as if the very 
 winds of heaven must carry it to you. If it was not love 
 that I offered you last night—in God’s name, what was it, 
 then? 
 
 125 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Then you are mine! Now and forever! To have and 
 to hold till death us do part. 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [In real transport .] Ah! If it only could be! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 It can be—it shall be —and on any altar you may choose! 
 
 Rose. 
 
 [Her face illumined .] Oh, my own! I could not let 
 you make the sacrifice! 
 
 Ford. 
 
 What sacrifice can / make, greater than you have made? 
 Over the road of sorrow we have journeyed towards each 
 other. There were two zealots, wandering through the 
 thorns of separate paths, bruising, scourging, torturing 
 their flesh. They meet—they gaze into each other’s eyes 
 —and they fall to healing each other’s wounds. 
 
 [A pause.] 
 
 Rose. 
 
 But when the fervor of our romance has died. In the 
 harvest time of reason. In the days to come? 
 
 Ford. 
 
 The harvest time of reason is now. You, who in spite 
 of heredity, temptation, environment, all those false beliefs 
 that make for weakness and wrong—can bring as your 
 dowry that strength of character that has kept you pure— 
 you can have no fears for the days to come. And of your 
 strength you shall give me a share. 
 
 126 
 
CHILDREN OF DESTINY . 
 
 Rose. 
 
 Strength! Oh, my darling—see! [She is weeping.] 
 This is all the strength I have. But these are tears of a 
 great joy. And see, sweetheait—my new life is beginning 
 with a happy omen. This letter came to-day—it is from 
 my mother. My fa—her husband died many months ago. 
 Read this printed slip, which the letter contained. [She 
 finds it, and hands it to him.] 
 
 Ford. 
 
 [Reads.] “Married at Washington, on June ist, the 
 Count Laurento di Varesi, to Isabelle, widow of the late 
 Richard Hamlin.” [He is impressed. He looks at her 
 with deep feeling. She responds to his gaze with tranquil 
 happiness, goes to him, lays her head on his breast. He 
 kisses her as the curtain falls.] 
 
 [End of the Play.] 
 
 127 
 
SAVOY THEATRE, Beginning 
 
 MONDAY, FEB. 21 
 
 Matinees Thursday and Saturday, 2.30 P. M. 
 
 Evenings 8.30 
 
 HEPSRY B. HARRIS Presents 
 
 A New Play in Four Acts entitled 
 
 GHILDREN OF DESTUH’’ 
 
 By Sydney Rosenfeid 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 (Named in the order in which they appear) 
 
 Mrs. Pochard Hamlin 
 Mrs. Winfield Chase 
 Laura, her daughter. . 
 
 fkose Hamlin . 
 
 Maid. 
 
 Count di Varesi. 
 
 Fred Garvin . 
 
 VValter Hobart. 
 
 Edwin Ford. 
 
 Julius Langhorn. 
 
 Waiter. 
 
 . Dorothy Dorr 
 Ida Darling 
 Virginia Pearson 
 .Laura Nelson Hall 
 . Helen Hilton 
 Frank Keicher 
 .Theodore Friebus 
 Frederick Truesdell 
 Orrin Johnson 
 . Harry Davenport 
 .George A. Wright 
 
 ACT I.—Boudoir of Mrs. Hamlin, Washington, D. C. 
 
 ACT II.—One year later. Cafe des Americains, Nice, 
 
 France. 
 
 ACT III.—The same night. "Rosamond's Bower.” Villa 
 at Monte Carlo. 
 
 ACT IV.—The next morning. Hobart's rooms at the 
 hotel. Monte Carlo. 
 
 Seats may be reserved by ’Phone 
 5351 Murray Hill 
 
 Special Matinee Washington’s Birthday 
 
DESTINY 
 
 “The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ. 
 Moves on • nor all your Piety nor Wit 
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line. 
 
 Nor all vour Tears wash out a Word of it." 
 
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 DESTINY 
 
 ‘ Ere Suns and Moons could wax and wane 
 Ere Stars were thunder girt or piled 
 The heavens. Cod thought on me His child: 
 
 Ordained a life for me, arrayed 
 Its circumstances every one 
 To the minutest.' 
 
STORY OF THE PLAY 
 
 The story, briefly, is that of a young Washington 
 girl, who, having attained her twenty-first birth¬ 
 day, learns from her fiancee that there is a cloud 
 upon her parentage, and the engagement is broken 
 off. This blow is struck in a most cowardly man¬ 
 ner at the height of her most complete happiness. 
 Discarded by her lover, she is seized with such 
 torture of mind, that in an outburst to her mother 
 she exclaims: “Since the world has cast me off, 
 what life is there that such as I can live? They 
 have written my doom in a clear hand.” The end 
 of the first act discloses this beautiful young girl, 
 deliberately announcing her intention of finding a 
 place among those ‘ ‘ who sell their beauty in the 
 marketplace.” She goes abroad. The money she 
 has acquired under singular circumstances, related 
 in the first act, enables her to shine with splen¬ 
 dor in the half-world into which she has been 
 ushered The scene shifts to the Riviera. The 
 fame of the fair Rosamond, for by that name she is 
 now known, has traveled far and wide, and men 
 of rank and wealth are in her train. Running 
 parallel with the life of Rosamond, one of the 
 ‘children of destiny,’ appears Edwin Ford, who 
 who is haunting the fascinating halls of vice that 
 abound in Monte Carlo. He too has had a sting¬ 
 ing heartache. He too has thrown his career to 
 the winds, and seeks in drink and dissipation, for¬ 
 getfulness of his early sorrows. Not knowing each 
 other’s previous history, but drawn together by a 
 subtle kinship of unspoken sorrow, both possessing 
 physical charm out of the ordinary, these two peo¬ 
 ple—children of destiny—meet. 
 
 This condition brings out dramatic situations 
 and complications, and develops a modern drama 
 on new and unique lines, with a powerful moral 
 uplift.