A BOMB SHELL
_In a Gallery near the Verney Chamber._ TIME--_Same as that of
the preceding Part._
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I must say it's rather rough luck on that
poor devil. I get his dress suit, and all _he_ comes in for is my
booby-trap! (PHILLIPSON, _wearing a holland blouse over her evening
toilette, approaches from the other end of the passage; he does not
recognise her until the moment of collision_.) Emma!! It's never
_you_! How do you come to be _here_?
_Phillipson_ (_to herself_). Then it _was_ my Jem after all! (_Aloud,
distantly._) I'm here in attendance on Lady Maisie Mull, being her
maid. If I was at all curious--which I'm not--I might ask you what
_you_'re doing in such a house as this; and in evening dress, if you
please!
_Spurrell._ I'm in evening dress, Emma, such as it is (not that I've
any right to find fault with it); but I'm in evening dress (_with
dignity_) because I've been included in the dinner party here.
_Phillipson._ You must have been getting on since _I_ knew you. Then
you were studying to be a horse-doctor.
_Spurrell._ I _have_ got on. I am now a qualified M.R.C.V.S.
_Phillipson._ And does that qualify you to dine with bishops and
countesses and baronets and the gentry, like one of themselves?
_Spurrell._ I don't say it does, in itself. It was my Andromeda that
did the trick, Emma.
_Phillipson._ Andromeda? They were talking of that downstairs. What
made you take to scribbling, James?
_Spurrell._ Scribbling? how do you mean? My handwriting's easy enough
to read, as you ought to know very well.
_Phillipson._ You can't expect me to remember what your writing's
like; it's so long since I've seen it!
_Spurrell._ Come, I like that! When I wrote twice to say I was sorry
we'd fallen out; and never got a word back!
_Phillipson._ If you'd written to the addresses I gave you abroad----
_Spurrell._ Then you _did_ write; but none of the letters reached me.
I never even knew you'd _gone_ abroad. I wrote to the old place. And
so did you, I suppose, not knowing I'd moved my lodgings too, so
naturally---- But what does it all matter, so long as we've met and
it's all right between us? Oh, my dear girl, if you only knew how I
worried myself, thinking you were---- Well, all that's over now, isn't
it?
[_He attempts to embrace her._
_Phillipson_ (_repulsing him_). Not quite so fast, James. Before I say
whether we're to be as we were or not, I want to know a little more
about you. You wouldn't be here like this if you hadn't done
_something_ to distinguish yourself.
_Spurrell._ Well, I don't say I mayn't have got a certain amount of
what they call "kudosh," owing to Andromeda. But what difference does
that make?
_Phillipson._ Tell me, James, is it _you_ that's been writing a pink
book all over silver cutlets?
_Spurrell._ Me? Write a book--about cutlets--or anything else! Emma,
you don't suppose I've quite come down to that! Andromeda's the name
of my bull-dog. I took first prize with her; there were portraits of
both of us in one of the papers. And the people here were very much
taken with the dog, and--and so they asked me to dine with them.
That's how it was.
_Phillipson._ I should have thought, if they asked one of you to dine,
it ought to have been the bull-dog.
_Spurrell._ Now what's the good of saying extravagant things of that
sort? Not that old Drummy couldn't be trusted to behave anywhere!
_Phillipson._ Better than her master, I dare say. _I_ heard of your
goings on with some Lady Rhoda or other!
_Spurrell._ Oh, the girl I sat next to at dinner? Nice chatty sort of
girl; seems fond of quadrupeds----
_Phillipson._ Especially two-legged ones! You see, I've been told all
about it!
_Spurrell._ I assure you, I didn't go a step beyond the most ordinary
civility. You're not going to be jealous because I promised I'd give
her a liniment for one of her dogs, are you?
_Phillipson._ Liniment! You always _were_ a flirt, James! But I'm not
jealous. I've met a very nice-spoken young man while I've been here;
he sat next to me at supper, and paid me the most beautiful
compliments, and was most polite and attentive--though he hasn't got
as far as liniment, at present.
_Spurrell._ But, Emma, you're not going to take up with some other
fellow just when we've come together again?
_Phillipson._ If you call it "coming together," when I'm down in the
housekeeper's room, and you're up above, carrying on with ladies of
title!
_Spurrell._ Do you want to drive me frantic? As if I could help being
where I am! How could I know _you_ were here?
_Phillipson._ At all events, you know _now_, James. And it's for you
to choose between your smart lady friends and me. If you're fit
company for them, you're too grand for one of their maids.
_Spurrell._ My dear girl, don't be unreasonable! I'm expected back in
the drawing-room, and I _can't_ throw 'em over now all of a sudden
without giving offence. There's the interests of the firm to consider,
and it's not for me to take a lower place than I'm given. But it's
only for a night or two, and you don't really suppose I wouldn't
rather be where you are if I was free to choose--but I'm _not_, Emma,
that's the worst of it!
_Phillipson._ Well, go back to the drawing-room, then; don't keep Lady
Rhoda waiting for her liniment on my account. I ought to be in my
ladies' rooms by this time. Only don't be surprised if, whenever you
_are_ free to choose, you find you've come back just too late--that's
all!
[_She turns to leave him._
_Spurrell_ (_detaining her_). Emma, I won't let you go like this! Not
before you've told me where I can meet you again here.
_Phillipson._ There's no place that I know of--except the
housekeeper's room; and of course you couldn't descend so low as
that.... James, there's somebody coming! Let go my hand--do you want
to lose me my character!
[_Steps and voices are heard at the other end of the
passage; she frees herself, and escapes._
_Spurrell_ (_attempting to follow_). But, Emma, stop one---- She's
gone!... Confound it, there's the butler and a page-boy coming! It's
no use staying up here any longer. (_To himself, as he goes
downstairs._) It's downright _torture_--that's what it is! To be tied
by the leg in the drawing-room, doing the civil to a lot of girls I
don't care a blow about; and to know that all the time some blarneying
beggar downstairs is doing his best to rob me of my Emma! Flesh and
blood can't stand it; and yet I'm blest if I see any way out of it
without offending 'em all round.
[_He enters the Chinese Drawing-room._
_In the Chinese Drawing-room._
_Miss Spelwane._ At last, Mr. Spurrell! We began to think you meant to
keep away altogether. Has anybody told you _why_ you've been waited
for so impatiently?
_Spurrell_ (_looking round the circle of chairs apprehensively_). No.
Is it family prayers, or what? Er--are they over?
_Miss Spelwane._ No, no; nothing of that sort. Can't you _guess_? Mr.
Spurrell, I'm going to be very bold, and ask a great, _great_ favour
of you. I don't know why they chose _me_ to represent them; I told
Lady Lullington I was afraid my entreaties would have no weight; but
if you only would----
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). They're at it again! How many _more_ of 'em
want a pup! (_Aloud._) Sorry to be disobliging, but----
_Miss Spelwane_ (_joining her hands in supplication_). Not if I
_implore_ you? Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I've quite set my heart on hearing
you read aloud to us. Are you really cruel enough to refuse?
_Spurrell._ Read aloud! Is _that_ what you want me to do? But I'm no
particular hand at it. I don't know that I've ever read aloud--except
a bit out of the paper now and then--since I was a boy at school!
_Lady Cantire._ _What's_ that I hear? Mr. Spurrell professing
incapacity to read aloud? Sheer affectation! Come, Mr. Spurrell, I am
much mistaken if you are wanting in the power to thrill all hearts
here. Think of us as instruments ready to respond to your touch. Play
upon us as you will; but don't be so ungracious as to raise any
further obstacles.
_Spurrell_ (_resignedly_). Oh, very well, if I'm required to read,
_I'm_ agreeable.
[_Murmurs of satisfaction._
_Lady Cantire._ Hush, please, everybody! Mr. Spurrell is going to
read. My dear Bishop, if you _wouldn't_ mind just---- Lord Lullington,
can you hear where you are? Where are you going to sit, Mr. Spurrell?
In the centre will be best. Will somebody move that lamp a little, so
as to give him more light?
_Spurrell_ (_to himself, as he sits down_). I wonder what we're
supposed to be playing at! (_Aloud._) Well, what am I to read, eh?
_Miss Spelwane_ (_placing an open copy of_ "Andromeda" _in his hands
with a charming air of deferential dictation_). You might begin with
_this_--such a _dear_ little piece! I'm dying to hear _you_ read it!
[Illustration: "YOU MIGHT BEGIN WITH THIS--SUCH A DEAR LITTLE
PIECE."]
_Spurrell_ (_as he takes the book_). I'll do the best I can! (_He
looks at the page in dismay._) Why, look here, it's _poetry_! I didn't
bargain for that. Poetry's altogether out of my line!
[Miss SPELWANE _opens her eyes to their fullest extent, and
retires a few paces from him; he begins to read in a
perfunctory monotone, with deepening bewilderment and
disgust_--
"THE SICK KNIGHT.
Reach me the helmet from yonder rack,
_Mistress o' mine! with its plume of white_:
Now help me upon my destrier's back,
_Mistress o' mine! though he swerve in fright_.
And guide my foot to the stirrup-ledge,
_Mistress o' mine! it eludes me still_.
Then fill me a cup as a farewell pledge,
_Mistress o' mine! for the night air's chill_!
Haste! with the buckler and pennon'd lance,
_Mistress o' mine! or ever I feel_
My war-horse plunge in impatient prance,
_Mistress o' mine! at the prick of heel_.
Pay scant heed to my pallid hue,
_Mistress o' mine! for the wan moon's sheen_
Doth blazon the gules o' my cheek with blue,
_Mistress o' mine! or glamour it green_.
One last long kiss, ere I seek the fray ...
_Mistress o' mine! though I quit my sell_,
I would meet the foe i' the mad mêlée.
_Mistress o' mine! an' I were but well!_"
(_After the murmur of conventional appreciation has died away._) Well,
of course, I don't set up for a judge of such things myself, but I
must say, if I was asked _my_ opinion--of all the downright tommy-rot
I _ever_---- (_The company look at one another with raised eyebrows
and dropped underlips; he turns over the leaves backwards until he
arrives at the title-page._) I _say_, though, I do call this _rather_
rum! Who the dickens is Clarion Blair? Because _I_ never heard of
him--and yet it seems he's been writing poetry on my bull-dog!
_Miss Spelwane_ (_faintly_). Writing poetry--about your bull-dog!
_Spurrell._ Yes, the one you've all been praising up so. If it isn't
meant for her, it's what you might call a most surprising coincidence,
for here's the old dog's name as plain as it can be--_Andromeda_!
[_Tableau._