THE LAST STRAW
_After_ SPURRELL'S _ingenuous comments upon the volume in his
hand, a painful silence ensues, which no one has sufficient
presence of mind to break for several seconds_.
_Miss Spelwane_ (_to herself_). Not Clarion Blair! Not even a poet!
I--I could _slap_ him!
_Pilliner_ (_to himself_). Poor dear Vivien! But if people will insist
on patting a strange poet, they mustn't be surprised if they get a
nasty bite!
_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He didn't write _Andromeda_! Then he
hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a _brute_ to the
poor dear man! _How_ lucky I said nothing about it to Gerald!
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself_). So he _ain't_ the bard!... Now I
see why Maisie's been behavin' so oddly all the evenin'; she spotted
him, and didn't like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, though.
Well, I shall stay out my leave now!
_Lady Rhoda_ (_to herself_). I thought all along he seemed too good a
sort for a poet!
_Archie_ (_to himself_). It's all very well; but how about that skit
he went up to write on us? He _must_ be a poet of sorts.
_Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris_ (_to herself_). This is fearfully puzzling.
What made him say that about "Lady Grisoline"?
_The Bishop_ (_to himself_). A crushing blow for the Countess; but not
unsalutary. I am distinctly conscious of feeling more kindly disposed
to that young man. Now why?
[_He ponders._
_Lady Lullington_ (_to herself_). I thought this young man was going
to read us some more of his poetry; it's too tiresome of him to stop
to tell us about his bull-dog. As if anybody cared _what_ he called
it!
_Lord Lullington_ (_to himself_). Uncommonly awkward, this! If I could
catch Laura's eye--but I suppose it would hardly be decent to go just
yet.
_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). Can Rohesia have known this? What
possible object could she have had in---- And oh, dear, _how_
disgusted Rupert will be!
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). Seems a decent young chap enough! Too
bad of Rohesia to let him in for this. I don't care a straw what he
is--he's none the worse for not being a poet.
_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). What _is_ he maundering about? It's
utterly inconceivable that _I_ should have made any mistake. It's only
too clear what the cause is--_Claret_!
_Spurrell_ (_aloud, good-humouredly_). Too bad of you to try and spoof
me like this before everybody, Miss Spelwane! I don't know whose idea
it was to play me such a trick, but----
_Miss Spelwane_ (_indistinctly_). Please understand that nobody here
had the _least_ intention of playing a trick upon you!
_Spurrell._ Well, if you say so, of course---- But it looked rather
like it, asking me to read when I've about as much poetry in me as--as
a pot hat! Still, if I'm _wanted_ to read aloud, I shall be happy
to----
_Lady Culverin_ (_hastily_). Indeed, _indeed_, Mr. Spurrell, we
couldn't think of troubling you any more under the circumstances! (_In
desperation._) Vivien, my dear, won't you _sing_ something?
[_The company echo the request with unusual eagerness._
_Spurrell_ (_to himself, during_ Miss SPELWANE'S _song_). Wonder
what's put them off being read to all of a sudden? My elocution mayn't
be first-class, exactly, but still---- (_As his eye happens to rest on
the binding of the volume on his knee._) Hullo! This cover's pink,
with silver things, not unlike cutlets, on it! Didn't Emma ask me----?
By George, if it's _that_! I may get down to the housekeeper's room,
after all! As soon as ever this squalling stops I'll find out; I
_can't_ go on like this! (Miss SPELWANE _leaves the piano; everybody
plunges feverishly into conversation on the first subject--other than
poetry or dogs--that presents itself, until_ Lord _and_ Lady
LULLINGTON _set a welcome example of departure_.) Better wait till
these county nobs have cleared, I suppose--there goes the last of
'em--now for it!... (_He pulls himself together, and approaches his
host and hostess._) Hem, Sir Rupert, and your ladyship, it's occurred
to me that it's just barely possible you may have got it in your heads
that I was something in the _poetical_ way.
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). Not this poor young chap's fault; must
let him down as easily as possible! (_Aloud._) Not at all--not at all!
Ha--assure you we quite understand; no necessity to say another word
about it.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Just my luck! They quite understand! No
housekeeper's room for me this journey! (_Aloud._) Of course I knew
the Countess, there, and Lady Maisie, were fully aware all along----
(_To_ Lady MAISIE, _as stifled exclamations reach his ear_.) You
_were_, weren't you?
_Lady Maisie_ (_hastily_). Yes, yes, Mr. Spurrell. Of course! It's all
_perfectly_ right!
_Spurrell_ (_to the others_). You see, I should never have thought of
coming in as a visitor if it hadn't been for the Countess; she would
_have_ it that it was all right, and that I needn't be afraid I
shouldn't be welcome.
_Lady Culverin._ To be sure--any friend of my sister-in-law's----
_Lady Cantire._ Albinia, I have refrained from speech as long as
possible; but this is really _too_ much! You _don't_ suppose I should
have introduced Mr. Spurrell here unless I had had the strongest
reasons for knowing, however he may be pleased to mystify us now, that
he, and nobody else, is the author of _Andromeda_! And I, for one,
absolutely decline to believe in this preposterous story of his about
a bull-dog.
_Spurrell._ But your ladyship must have known! Why, you as good as
asked me on the way here to put you down for a bull-pup!
_Lady Cantire._ Never, never! A bull-pup is the last creature I should
ever dream of coveting. You were obliging enough to ask me to accept a
presentation copy of your verses.
_Spurrell._ Was I? I don't exactly see how I _could_ have been,
considering I never made a rhyme in my life!
_Sir Rupert._ There, there, Rohesia, it was _your_ mistake; but as we
are indebted to it for the pleasure of making Mr. Spurrell's
acquaintance----
_Lady Cantire._ I am not in the habit of making mistakes, Rupert. I
don't know what you and Albinia and Maisie may know that I am in
ignorance of, but, since you seem to have been aware from the first
that Mr. Spurrell was not the poet you had invited here to meet me,
will you kindly explain what has become of the _real_ author?
_Sir Rupert._ My dear Rohesia, I don't know and I don't _care_!
_Lady Cantire._ There you are _wrong_, Rupert, because it's obvious
that if he is not Mr. Spurrell, the real poet's absence has to be
accounted for in _some_ way.
_Spurrell._ By Jove, I believe I can put you on the track. I shouldn't
wonder if he's the party these dress clothes of mine belong to! I dare
say you may have noticed they don't look as if they were made for me?
_Lady Cantire_ (_closing her eyes_). Pray let us avoid any sartorial
questions! We are waiting to hear about this person.
_Spurrell._ Well, I found I'd got on his things by mistake, and I went
up as soon as I could after dessert to my room to take 'em off, and
there he was, with a waste-paper basket on his head----
_Lady Cantire._ A waste-paper basket on his head! And pray what should
he have _that_ for?
_Spurrell._ I'm no wiser than your ladyship _there_. All _I_ know is
he said he wouldn't take it off till he saw me. And I never saw any
one in such a mess with ink and flour as he was!
_Lady Cantire._ Ink and flour, indeed! This rigmarole gets more
ridiculous every moment! You can't seriously expect any one here to
believe it!
[ARCHIE _discreetly retires to the smoking-room_.
_Spurrell._ Well, I rather think somebody must have fixed up a
booby-trap for _me_, you know, and he happened to go in first and get
the benefit of it. And he was riled, very naturally, thinking _I_'d
done it, but after we'd had a little talk together, he calmed down and
said I might keep his clothes, which I thought uncommonly good-natured
of him, you know. By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if
your ladyship would like to see it.
[_He hands it to_ Lady CULVERIN.
_Lady Culverin._ "Mr. Undershell!"... Rohesia, that _is_ Clarion
Blair! I knew it was _something_ ending in "ell." (_To_ SPURRELL.) And
you say Mr. Undershell is here--in this house?
_Spurrell._ Not now. He's gone by this time.
_The Others_ (_in dismay_). Gone!
_Spurrell._ He said he was leaving at once. If he'd only told me how
it was, I'd have----
_Lady Cantire._ I don't believe a single word of all this! If Mr.
Spurrell is not Clarion Blair, let him explain how he came to be
coming down to Wyvern this afternoon!
_Spurrell._ If your ladyship doesn't really know, you had better ask
Sir Rupert; _he'll_ tell you it's all right.
_Lady Cantire._ Then perhaps _you_ will be good enough to enlighten
us, Rupert?
_Sir Rupert_ (_driven into a corner_). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to
say that I'm just as much in the dark as anybody else, if it comes to
that!
_Spurrell_ (_eagerly_). But you wired me to come, sir! About a horse
of yours! I've been wondering all the evening when you'd tell me I
could go round and have a look at him. I'm here instead of Mr.
Spavin--_now_ do you understand, Sir Rupert? I'm the vet.
[_Suppressed sensation._
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). This is devilish awkward! Don't quite
know what to do. (_Aloud._) To--to be sure you are! Of course! That's
it, Rohesia! Mr. Spurrell came down to see a horse, and we shall be
very glad to have the benefit of his opinion by and bye.
[_He claps him amicably on the shoulder._
_Lady Cantire_ (_in a sepulchral tone_). Albinia, I think I will go to
bed.
[_She withdraws._
[Illustration: "ALBINIA, I THINK I WILL GO TO BED."]
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). There'll be no harm in letting him stay,
now he _is_ here. If Rohesia objects, she's got nobody but herself to
blame for it!
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). They won't want to keep me upstairs much
longer after this! (TREDWELL _enters, and seems to have something of
importance to communicate to_ Sir RUPERT _in private_.) I wonder what
the dooce is up _now_!
[_Partial reaction in company._