THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE
_In the Chinese Drawing-room at Wyvern._ TIME--7.50. Lady
CULVERIN _is alone, glancing over a written list_.
_Lady Cantire_ (_entering_). Down already, Albinia? I _thought_ if I
made haste I should get a quiet chat with you before anybody else came
in. What is that paper? Oh, the list of couples for Rupert. May I see?
(_As_ Lady CULVERIN _surrenders it_.) My dear, you're _not_ going to
inflict that mincing little Pilliner boy on poor Maisie! That really
_won't do_. At least let her have somebody she used to. Why not
Captain Thicknesse? He's an old friend, and she's not seen him for
months. I must alter that, if you've no objection. (_She does._) And
then you've given my poor poet to that Spelwane girl! Now, _why_?
_Lady Culverin._ I thought she wouldn't mind putting up with him just
for one evening.
_Lady Cantire._ Wouldn't _mind_! Putting up with him! And is that how
you speak of a celebrity when you are so fortunate as to have one to
entertain? _Really_, Albinia!
_Lady Culverin._ But, my dear Rohesia, you must allow that, whatever
his talents may be, he is not--well, not _quite_ one of Us. Now, _is_
he?
_Lady Cantire_ (_blandly_). My dear, I never heard he had any
connection with the manufacture of chemical manures, in which your
worthy papa so greatly distinguished himself--if _that_ is what you
mean.
_Lady Culverin_ (_with some increase of colour_). That is _not_ what I
meant, Rohesia--as you know perfectly well. And I do say that this Mr.
Spurrell's manner is most objectionable; when he's not obsequious,
he's horribly familiar!
_Lady Cantire_ (_sharply_). I have not observed it. He strikes me as
well enough--for that class of person. And it is intellect, soul, all
that kind of thing that _I_ value. I look _below_ the surface, and I
find a great deal that is very original and charming in this young
man. And surely, my dear, if I find myself able to associate with him,
_you_ need not be so fastidious! I consider him my _protégé_, and I
won't have him slighted. He is far too good for Vivien Spelwane!
_Lady Culverin_ (_with just a suspicion of malice_). Perhaps, Rohesia,
you would like him to take _you_ in?
_Lady Cantire._ That, of course, is quite out of the question. I see
you have given me the Bishop--he's a poor, dry stick of a man--never
forgets he was the Headmaster of Swisham--but he's always glad to meet
_me_. I freshen him up so.
_Lady Culverin._ I really don't know whom I _can_ give Mr. Spurrell.
There's Rhoda Cokayne, but she's not poetical, and she'll get on much
better with Archie Bearpark. Oh, I forgot Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris--she's
sure to _talk_, at all events.
_Lady Cantire_ (_as she corrects the list_). A lively, agreeable
woman--she'll amuse him. _Now_ you can give Rupert the list.
[Sir RUPERT _and various members of the house-party appear
one by one_; Lord _and_ Lady LULLINGTON, _the_ Bishop
of BIRCHESTER _and_ Mrs. RODNEY, Mr. _and_ Mrs. EARWAKER,
_and_ Mr. SHORTHORN _are announced at intervals;
salutations, recognitions, and commonplaces are exchanged_.
_Lady Cantire_ (_later--to the_ Bishop, _genially_). Ah, my dear
Bishop, you and I haven't met since we had our great battle
about--now, was it the necessity of throwing open the Public Schools
to the lower classes--for whom of course they were originally
_intended_--or was it the failure of the Church to reach the working
man? I really forget.
_The Bishop_ (_who has a holy horror of the_ Countess). I--ah--fear I
cannot charge my memory so precisely, my dear Lady Cantire.
We--ah--differ unfortunately on so many subjects. I trust, however, we
may--ah--agree to suspend hostilities on this occasion?
_Lady Cantire_ (_with even more bonhomie_). Don't be too sure of
_that_, Bishop. I've several crows to pluck with you, and we are to go
in to dinner together, you know!
_The Bishop._ Indeed? I had no conception that such a pleasure was in
store for me! (_To himself._) This must be the penance for breaking my
rule of never dining out on Saturday! Severe--but not unmerited!
_Lady Cantire._ I wonder, Bishop, if you have seen this wonderful
volume of poetry that every one is talking about--_Andromeda_?
_The Bishop_ (_conscientiously_). I chanced only this morning, by way
of momentary relaxation, to take up a journal containing a notice of
that work, with copious extracts. The impression left on my mind
was--ah--unfavourable; a certain talent, no doubt, some felicity of
expression, but a noticeable lack of the--ah--reticence, the
discipline, the--the scholarly touch which a training at one of our
great Public Schools (I forbear to particularise), and at a
University, can alone impart. I was also pained to observe a crude
discontent with the existing Social System--a system which, if not
absolutely perfect, cannot be upset or even modified without the
gravest danger. But I was still more distressed to note in several
passages a decided taint of the morbid sensuousness which renders so
much of our modern literature sickly and unwholesome.
_Lady Cantire._ All prejudice, my dear Bishop; why, you haven't even
_read_ the book! However, the author is staying here now, and I feel
convinced that if you only knew him, you'd alter your opinion. Such an
unassuming, inoffensive creature! There, he's just come in. I'll call
him over here.... Goodness, why does he shuffle along in that way!
_Spurrell_ (_meeting_ Sir RUPERT). Hope I've kept nobody waiting for
_me_, Sir Rupert. (_Confidentially._) I'd rather a job to get these
things on; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering!
[_He passes on, leaving his host speechless._
[Illustration: "I'D RATHER A JOB TO GET THESE THINGS ON; BUT
THEY'RE REALLY A WONDERFUL FIT, CONSIDERING!"]
_Lady Cantire._ That's right, Mr. Spurrell. Come here, and let me
present you to the Bishop of Birchester. The Bishop has just been
telling me he considers your _Andromeda_ sickly, or unhealthy, or
something. I'm sure you'll be able to convince him it's nothing of the
sort.
[_She leaves him with the_ Bishop, _who is visibly annoyed_.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself, overawed_). Oh, Lor! Wish I knew the right
way to talk to a Bishop. Can't call _him_ nothing--so doosid familiar.
(_Aloud._) _Andromeda_ sickly, your--(_tentatively_)--your Right
Reverence? Not a bit of it--sound as a roach!
_The Bishop._ If I had thought my--ah--criticisms were to be
repeated--I might say misrepresented, as the Countess has thought
proper to do, Mr. Spurrell, I should not have ventured to make them.
At the same time, you must be conscious yourself, I think, of certain
blemishes which would justify the terms I employed.
_Spurrell._ I never saw any in _Andromeda_ myself, your--your
Holiness. You're the first to find a fault in her. I don't say there
mayn't be something dicky about the setting and the turn of the tail,
but that's a trifle.
_The Bishop._ I did not refer to the setting of the tale, and the
portions I object to are scarcely trifles. But pardon me if I prefer
to end a discussion that can hardly be other than unprofitable. (_To
himself, as he turns on his heel._) A most arrogant, self-satisfied,
and conceited young man--a truly lamentable product of this
half-educated age!
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Well, he may be a dab at dogmas--he don't
know much about dogs. Drummy's got a constitution worth a dozen of
_his_!
_Lady Culverin_ (_approaching him_). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, Lord Lullington
is most anxious to know you. If you will come with me. (_To herself,
as she leads him up to_ Lord LULLINGTON.) I do _wish_ Rohesia wouldn't
force me to do this sort of thing!
[_She presents him._
_Lord Lullington_ (_to himself_). I suppose I _ought_ to know all
about his novel, or whatever it is he's done. (_Aloud, with
courtliness._) Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Spurrell;
you've--ah--delighted the world by your _Andromeda_. When are we to
look for your next production? Soon, I hope.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). _He's_ after a pup now! Never met such a
doggy lot in my life! (_Aloud._) Er--well, my lord, I've promised so
many as it is, that I hardly see my way to----
_Lord Lullington_ (_paternally_). Take my advice, my dear young man,
leave yourself as free as possible. Expect you to give us your best,
you know.
[_He turns to continue a conversation._
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). _Give_ it! He won't get it under a
five-pound note, I can tell him. (_He makes his way to_ Miss
SPELWANE.) I say, what do you think the old Bishop's been up to?
Pitching into _Andromeda_ like the very dooce--says she's _sickly_!
_Miss Spelwane_ (_to herself_). He brings his literary disappointments
to _me_, not Maisie! (_Aloud, with the sweetest sympathy._) How
dreadfully unjust! Oh, I've dropped my fan--no, pray don't trouble; I
can pick it up. My arms are so long, you know--like a kangaroo's--no,
what is that animal which has such long arms? You're so clever, you
_ought_ to know!
_Spurrell._ I suppose you mean a gorilla?
_Miss Spelwane._ How crushing of you! But you must go away now, or
else you'll find nothing to say to me at dinner--you take me in, you
know. I hope you feel privileged. _I_ feel---- But if I told you, I
might make you too conceited!
_Spurrell_ (_gracefully_). Oh, it's not so easily done as all _that_!
[Sir RUPERT _approaches with_ Mr. SHORTHORN.
_Sir Rupert._ Vivien, my dear, let me introduce Mr. Shorthorn--Miss
Spelwane. (_To_ SPURRELL.) Let me see--ha--yes, you take in Mrs.
Chatteris. Don't know her? Come this way, and I'll find her for you.
[_He marches_ SPURRELL _off_.
_Mr. Shorthorn_ (_to_ Miss SPELWANE). Good thing getting this rain at
last; a little more of this dry weather and we should have had no
grass to speak of!
_Miss Spelwane_ (_who has not quite recovered from her
disappointment_). And now you _will_ have some grass to speak of?
_How_ fortunate!
_Spurrell_ (_as dinner is announced, to_ Lady MAISIE). I say, Lady
Maisie, I've just been told I've got to take in a married lady. _I_
don't know what to talk to her about. I should feel a lot more at home
with you. Couldn't we work it somehow?
_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). What a fearful suggestion--but I simply
_daren't_ snub him! (_Aloud._) I'm afraid, Mr. Spurrell, we must both
put up with the partners we have; most distressing, isn't it--_but_!
[_She gives a little shrug._
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_immediately behind her, to himself_). Gad,
_that's_ pleasant! I knew I'd better have gone to Aldershot!
(_Aloud._) I've been told off to take you in, Lady Maisie--not _my_
fault, don't you know.
_Lady Maisie._ There's no need to be so apologetic about it. (_To
herself._) Oh, I _hope_ he didn't hear what I said to that wretch!
_Captain Thicknesse._ Well, I rather thought there _might_ be,
perhaps.
_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He _did_ hear it. If he's going to be so
stupid as to misunderstand, I'm sure _I_ shan't explain.
[_They take their place in the procession to the
dining-hall._