AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE
_In 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--practices 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. Earwaker._ He was the only one of the family who didn't
recognize 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 Lullington_ (_languidly_). Religion! How _very_ nice!
_Mrs. Earwaker._ 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 Lullington_ (_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._ P'raps--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 dare say Lady Rhoda will not object to come and
meet him.
_Lady Rhoda._ Rather not. _I_'ll come, like a shot!
_Lady Culverin_ (_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 Culverin_ (_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 Cantire._ 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 Spelwane._ I _told_ Lady Lullington that I was afraid you would
think it a bore, Lady Cantire.
_Lady Cantire._ 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 so acceptable to the
majority.
_Lady Culverin._ No, it wouldn't do at all. And it would be making
this young man so _much_ too conspicuous.
_Lady Cantire._ 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 Spelwane._ Then--would _you_ ask him, Lady Cantire?
_Lady Cantire._ I, my dear? You forget that _I_ am not hostess here.
My sister-in-law is the proper person to do that.
_Lady Culverin._ Indeed I couldn't. But perhaps, Vivien, if you liked
to suggest it to him, he might----
_Miss Spelwane._ 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_!
_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). I must say that girl is very much
improved in manner since I last saw anything of her.
_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. Chatteris_ (_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. Chatteris._ 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. Chatteris._ 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. Chatteris_ (_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 Spelwane._ 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.
_Pilliner._ There's only one drawback to that highly desirable
arrangement. The songster 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 Spelwane_ (_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.
_Captain Thicknesse._ 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!
_Captain Thicknesse._ 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, so far as I know, in all his life before!
_Captain Thicknesse._ 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!
_Captain Thicknesse._ 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 Cantire._ 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."]
_Pilliner._ 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
bring your own ridiculous booby-trap off, 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_.