SCENE XXV.--_The Chinese Drawing Room._ TIME--_About_ 9.45 P.M.
_Mrs. Earwaker._ Yes, dear Lady LULLINGTON, I've always insisted on each
of my girls adopting a distinct line of her own, and the result has been
_most_ satisfactory. LOUISA, my eldest, is literary; she had a little
story accepted not long ago by _The Milky Way_; then MARIA is musical;
practises regularly three hours every day on her violin. FANNY has
become quite an expert in photography--kodaked her father the other day
in the act of trying a difficult stroke at billiards; a back view--but
_so_ clever and characteristic!
_Lady Lullington (absently)._ A back view? How _nice_!
_Mrs. Earw._ He was the only one of the family who didn't recognise it
at once. Then my youngest, CAROLINE--well, I must say that for a long
time I was quite in despair about CAROLINE. It really looked as if there
was no single thing that she had the slightest bent or inclination for.
So at last I thought she had better take up Religion, and make _that_
her speciality.
_Lady Lull. (languidly)._ Religion! How _very_ nice!
_Mrs. Earw._ Well, I got her a _Christian Year_ and a covered basket,
and quantities of tracts, and so on; but, somehow, she didn't seem to
get _on_ with it. So I let her give it up; and now she's gone in for
poker-etching instead.
_Lady Lull. (by an act of unconscious cerebration)._ Poker-etching! How
very _very_ nice!
[_Her eyelids close gently._
_Lady Rhoda._ Oh, but indeed, Lady CULVERIN, I thought he was perfectly
charmin'; not a bit booky, you know, but as clever as he can stick;
knows more about terriers than any man I ever met!
_Lady Culverin._ So glad you found him agreeable, my dear. I was half
afraid he might strike you as--well, just a little bit _common_ in his
way of talking.
_Lady Rhoda._ Pr'aps--but, after all, one can't expect those sort of
people to talk quite like we do ourselves, _can_ one?
_Lady Cantire._ Is that Mr. SPURRELL you are finding fault with,
ALBINIA? It is curious that _you_ should be the one person here
who----_I_ consider him a very worthy and talented young man, and I
shall most certainly ask him to dinner--or _lunch_, at all events--as
soon as we return. I daresay Lady RHODA will not object to come and meet
him.
_Lady Rhoda._ Rather not. _I_'ll come, like a shot!
_Lady Culv. (to herself)._ I suppose it's very silly of me to be so
prejudiced. Nobody else seems to mind him!
_Miss Spelwane (crossing over to them)._ Oh, Lady CULVERIN, Lady
LULLINGTON has such a _delightful_ idea--she's just been saying how very
very nice it would be if Mr. SPURRELL could be persuaded to read some of
his poetry aloud to us presently. _Do_ you think it could be managed?
_Lady Culv. (in distress)._ Really, my dear VIVIEN, I--I don't know
_what_ to say. I fancy people would so _much_ rather talk--don't you
think so, ROHESIA?
_Lady Cant._ Probably they would, ALBINIA. It is most unlikely that they
would care to hear anything more intellectual and instructive than the
sound of their own voices.
_Miss Spelw._ I _told_ Lady LULLINGTON that I was afraid you would think
it a bore, Lady CANTIRE.
_Lady Cant._ You are perfectly mistaken, Miss SPELWANE. I flatter myself
I am quite as capable of appreciating a literary privilege as anybody
here. But I cannot answer for its being acceptable to the majority.
_Lady Culv._ No, it wouldn't do at all. And it would be making this
young man so _much_ too conspicuous.
_Lady Cant._ You are talking nonsense, my dear. When you are fortunate
enough to secure a celebrity at Wyvern, you can't make him _too_
conspicuous. I never knew that LAURA LULLINGTON had any taste for
literature before, but there's something to be said for her
suggestion--if it can be carried out; it would at least provide a
welcome relief from the usual after-dinner dullness of this sort of
gathering.
_Miss Spelw._ Then--would _you_ ask him, Lady CANTIRE?
_Lady Cant._ I, my dear? You forget that _I_ am not hostess here. My
sister-in-law is the proper person to do that.
_Lady Culv._ Indeed I couldn't. But perhaps, VIVIEN, if you liked to
suggest it to him, he might----
_Miss Spelw._ I'll try, dear Lady CULVERIN. And if my poor little
persuasions have no effect, I shall fall back on Lady CANTIRE, and then
he _can't_ refuse. I must go and tell dear Lady LULLINGTON--she'll be so
pleased! (_To herself, as she skims away._) I generally _do_ get my own
way. But I mean him to do it to please _Me_!
_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_a little later, to_ Lady MAISIE). Have you heard what
a treat is in store for us? That delightful Mr. SPURRELL is going to
give us a reading or a recitation, or something, from his own poems; at
least, Miss SPELWANE is to ask him as soon as the men come in. Only _I_
should have thought that he would be much more likely to consent if
_you_ asked him.
_Lady Maisie._ Would you? I'm sure I don't know why.
_Mrs. Chatt. (archly)._ Oh, he took me in to dinner, you know, and it's
quite wonderful how people confide in me, but I suppose they feel I can
be trusted. He mentioned a little fact, which gave me the impression
that a certain fair lady's wishes would be supreme with him.
_Lady Maisie (to herself)._ The wretch! He _has_ been boasting of my
unfortunate letter! (_Aloud._) Mr. SPURRELL had no business to give you
any impression of the kind. And the mere fact that I--that I happened to
admire his verses----
_Mrs. Chatt._ Exactly! Poets' heads are so easily turned; and, as I said
to Captain THICKNESSE----
_Lady Maisie._ Captain THICKNESSE! You have been talking about it--to
_him_!
_Mrs. Chatt._ I'd no idea you would mind anybody knowing, or I would
never have dreamed of----I've such a perfect _horror_ of gossip! It took
me so much by surprise, that I simply couldn't resist; but I can easily
tell Captain THICKNESSE it was all a mistake; _he_ knows how fearfully
inaccurate I always am.
_Lady Maisie._ I would rather you said nothing more about it, please; it
is really not worth while contradicting anything so utterly absurd. (_To
herself._) That GERALD--Captain THICKNESSE--of all people, should know
of my letter! And goodness only knows what story she may have made out
of it!
_Mrs. Chatt. (to herself, as she moves away)._ I've been letting my
tongue run away with me, as usual. She's _not_ the original of "Lady
Grisoline," after all. Perhaps he meant VIVIEN SPELWANE--the description
was much more like _her_!
_Pilliner_ (_who has just entered with some of the younger men, to_ Miss
SPELWANE). What _are_ you doing with these chairs? Why are we all to sit
in a circle, like MOORE and BURGESS people? You're _not_ going to set
the poor dear Bishop down to play baby-games? How perfectly barbarous of
you!
_Miss Spelw._ The chairs are being arranged for something much more
intellectual. We are going to get Mr. SPURRELL to read a poem to us, if
you want to know. I _told_ you I should manage it.
_Pill._ There's only one drawback to that highly desirable arrangement.
The bard, with prophetic foreknowledge of your designs, has
unostentatiously retired to roost. So I'm afraid you'll have to do
without your poetry this evening--that is, unless you care to avail
yourself again of my services?
_Miss Spelw. (indignantly)._ It is too _mean_ of you. You must have told
him!
[_He protests his innocence._
_Lady Rhoda._ ARCHIE, what's become of Mr. SPURRELL? I particularly want
to ask him something.
_Bearpark._ The poet? He nipped upstairs--as I told you all along he
meant to--to scribble some of his democratic drivel, and (_with a
suppressed grin_) I don't _think_ you'll see him again this evening.
_Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he enters)._ She's keepin' a chair
next hers in the corner there for somebody. Can it be for that poet
chap?... (_He meets_ Lady MAISIE'S _eye suddenly._) Great Scott! If she
means it for _me_!... I've half a mind not to----No, I shall be a fool
if I lose such a chance! (_He crosses, and drops into the vacant chair
next hers._) I _may_ sit here, mayn't I?
_Lady Maisie_ (_simply_). I meant you to. We used to be such good
friends; it's a pity to have misunderstandings. And--and I want to ask
you what that silly little Mrs. CHATTERIS has been telling you at dinner
about me.
_Capt. Thick._ Well, she was sayin'--and I must say I don't understand
it, after your tellin' me you knew nothing about this Mr. SPURRELL till
this afternoon----
_Lady Maisie._ But I don't. And I--I _did_ offer to explain, but you
said you weren't curious!
_Capt. Thick._ Didn't want you to tell me anything that perhaps you'd
rather not, don't you know. Still, I _should_ like to know how this poet
chap came to write a poem all about you, and call it "Lady Grisoline."
if he never----
_Lady Maisie._ But it's too ridiculous! How _could_ he? When he never
saw me, that I know of, in all his life before!
_Capt. Thick._ He told Mrs. CHATTERIS you were the original of his "Lady
Grisoline" anyway, and really----
_Lady Maisie._ He dared to tell her that? How disgracefully impertinent
of him. (_To herself._) So long as he hasn't talked about my letter, he
may say what he pleases!
_Capt. Thick._ But what _was_ it you were goin' to explain to me? You
said there was somethin'----
_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). It's no use; I'd sooner die than tell him
about that letter now! (_Aloud._) I--I only wished you to understand
that, whatever I think about poetry--I detest poets!
_Lady Cant._ Yes, as you say, Bishop, a truly Augustan mode of
recreation. Still, Mr. SPURRELL doesn't seem to have come in yet, so I
shall have time to hear anything you have to say in defence of your
opposition to Parish Councils.
[_The_ Bishop _resigns himself to the inevitable._
_Archie_ (_in_ PILLINER'S _ear_). Ink and flour--couldn't possibly miss
him; the bard's got a matted head _this_ time, and no mistake.
[Illustration: "Ink and flour--couldn't possibly miss him."]
_Pill._ Beastly bad form, _I_ call it--with a fellow you don't know.
You'll get yourself into trouble some day. And you couldn't even manage
your ridiculous booby-trap, for here the beggar comes, as if nothing had
happened.
_Archie_ (_disconcerted_). Confound him! The best booby-trap I _ever_
made!
_The Bishop._ My dear Lady CANTIRE, here is our youthful poet, at the
eleventh hour. (_To himself._) "_Sic me servavit_ Apollo!"
[Miss SPELWANE _advances to meet_ SPURRELL, _who stands
surveying the array of chairs in blank bewilderment._
* * * * *