THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER.
_In the Morning Room._ TIME--_Sunday morning; just after
breakfast._
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_outside, to_ TREDWELL). Dogcart round, eh?
everything in? All right--shan't be a minute. (_Entering._) Hallo,
Pilliner, you all alone here? (_He looks round disconcertedly._) Don't
happen to have seen Lady Maisie about?
_Pilliner._ Let me see--she _was_ here a little while ago, I fancy....
Why? Do you want her?
_Captain Thicknesse._ No--only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.
_Pilliner._ Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such
an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your
Tommies on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you _wanted_
to. Come now!
_Captain Thicknesse._ Perhaps--only, you see, I _don't_ want to.
_Pilliner._ Well, tastes differ. I shouldn't call a cross-country
journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the
company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably
ventilated junctions, the ideal method of spending a cheery Sunday,
myself, that's all.
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_gloomily_). Dare say it will be about as cheery
as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.
_Pilliner._ I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast.
The bard conversed--I will say _that_ for him--but he seemed to
diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that
might almost be described as damned offensive.
_Captain Thicknesse._ Don't know what you all saw in what he said that
was so amusin'. Confounded rude _I_ thought it!
_Pilliner._ Don't think anyone _was_ amused--unless it was Lady
Maisie. By the way, he might perhaps have selected a happier topic to
hold forth to Sir Rupert on than the scandalous indifference of large
landowners to the condition of the rural labourer. Poor dear old boy,
he stood it wonderfully, considering. Pity Lady Cantire breakfasted
upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good
audience in little Lady Maisie.
_Captain Thicknesse._ I do hate a chap that jaws at breakfast....
_Where_ did you say she was?
_Lady Maisie's voice_ (_outside, in conservatory_). Yes, you really
ought to see the orangery and the Elizabethan garden, Mr. Blair. If
you will be on the terrace in about five minutes, I could take you
round myself. I must go and see if I can get the keys first.
_Pilliner._ If you want to say good-bye, old fellow, now's your
chance!
_Captain Thicknesse._ It--it don't matter. She's engaged. And, look
here, you needn't mention that I was askin' for her.
_Pilliner._ Of course, old fellow, if you'd rather not. (_He glances
at him._) But I say, my dear old chap, if _that's_ how it is with you,
I don't quite see the sense of chucking it up _already_, don't you
know. No earthly affair of mine, I know; still, if I _could_ manage to
stay on, I would, if I were _you_.
_Captain Thicknesse._ Hang it all, Pilliner, do you suppose _I_ don't
know when the game's up! If it was any _good_ stayin' on---- And
besides, I've said good-bye to Lady C., and all that. No, it's too
late now.
_Tredwell_ (_at the door_). Excuse me, sir, but if you're going by the
10.40, you haven't any too much time.
_Pilliner_ (_to himself after_ Captain THICKNESSE _has hurried out_).
Poor old chap, he does seem hard hit! Pity he's not Lady Maisie's
sort. Though what she can see in that long-haired beggar----! Wonder
when Vivien Spelwane intends to come down; never knew her miss
breakfast before.... What's that rustling?... Women! I'll be off, or
they'll nail me for church before I know it.
[_He disappears hastily in the direction of the Smoking-room
as_ Lady CANTIRE and Mrs. CHATTERIS _enter_.
[Illustration: "I'LL BE OFF, OR THEY'LL NAIL ME FOR CHURCH
BEFORE I KNOW IT."]
_Lady Cantire._ Nonsense, my dear, no walk at all; the church is only
just across the park. My brother Rupert always goes, and it pleases
him to see the Wyvern pew as full as possible. I seldom feel equal to
going myself, because I find the necessity of allowing pulpit
inaccuracies to pass without a protest gets too much on my nerves; but
my daughter will accompany you. You'll have just time to run up and
get your things on.
_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_with arch significance_). I don't _fancy_ I shall
have the pleasure of your daughter's society this morning. I just met
her going to get the garden keys; I think she has promised to show the
grounds to---- Well, I needn't mention _whom_. Oh dear me, I hope I'm
not being indiscreet _again_!
_Lady Cantire._ I make a point of never interfering with my daughter's
proceedings, and you can easily understand how natural it is that such
old friends as they have always been----
_Mrs. Chatteris._ Really? I _thought_ they seemed to take a great
pleasure in one another's society. It's quite romantic. But I must
rush up and get my bonnet on if I'm to go to church. (_To herself, as
she goes out._) So she _was_ "Lady Grisoline," after all! If I was her
mother---- But dear Lady Cantire is so advanced about things.
_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). Darling Maisie! He'll be Lord
Dunderhead before very long. How sensible and sweet of her! And I was
quite uneasy about them last night at dinner; they scarcely seemed to
be talking to each other at all. But there's a great deal more in dear
Maisie than one would imagine.
_Sir Rupert_ (_outside_). We're rather proud of our church, Mr.
Undershell--fine old monuments and brasses, if you care about that
sort of thing. Some of us will be walking over to service presently,
if you would like to----
_Undershell_ (_outside--to himself_). And lose my _tête-à-tête_ with
Lady Maisie! Not exactly! (_Aloud._) I am afraid, Sir Rupert, that I
cannot conscientiously----
_Sir Rupert_ (_hastily_). Oh, very well, very well; do exactly as you
like about it, of course. I only thought---- (_To himself._) Now, that
_other_ young chap would have gone!
_Lady Cantire._ Rupert, who is that you are talking to out there? I
don't recognise his voice, somehow.
_Sir Rupert_ (_entering with_ UNDERSHELL). Ha, Rohesia, you've come
down, then? slept well, I hope. I was talking to a gentleman whose
acquaintance I know you will be very happy to make--at last. This is
the genuine celebrity _this_ time. (_To_ UNDERSHELL.) Let me make you
known to my sister, Lady Cantire, Mr. Undershell. (_As_ Lady CANTIRE
_glares interrogatively_.) Mr. Clarion Blair, Rohesia, author of
hum--ha--_Andromache_.
_Lady Cantire._ I thought we were given to understand last night that
Mr. Spurrell--Mr. Blair--you must pardon me, but it's really so very
confusing--that the writer of the--ah--volume in question had already
left Wyvern.
_Sir Rupert._ Well, my dear, you see he is still here--er--fortunately
for us. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave Mr. Blair to entertain you;
got to speak to Adams about something.
[_He hurries out._
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). This must be Lady Maisie's mamma. Better
be civil to her, I suppose; but I can't stay here and entertain her
long! (_Aloud._) Lady Cantire, I--er--have an appointment for which I
am already a little late; but before I go, I should like to tell you
how much pleasure it has given me to know that my poor verse has won
your approval; appreciation from----
_Lady Cantire._ I'm afraid you must have been misinformed,
Mr.--a--Blair. There are so many serious publications claiming
attention in these days of literary over-production that I have long
made it a rule to read no literature of a lighter order that has not
been before the world for at least ten years. I may be mistaken, but I
infer from your appearance that your own work must be of a
considerably more recent date.
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). If she imagines she's going to snub
Me----! (_Aloud._) Then I was evidently mistaken in gathering from
some expressions in your daughter's letter that----
_Lady Cantire._ Entirely. You are probably thinking of some totally
different person, as my daughter has never mentioned having written to
you, and is not in the habit of conducting _any_ correspondence
without my full knowledge and approval. I think you said you had some
appointment; if so, pray don't consider yourself under any necessity
to remain here.
_Undershell._ You are very good; I will not. (_To himself, as he
retires._) Awful old lady, that! I quite thought she would know all
about that letter, or I should never have---- However, I said nothing
to compromise any one, luckily!
_Lady Culverin_ (_entering_). Good morning, Rohesia. So glad you felt
equal to coming down. I was almost afraid--after _last night_, you
know.
_Lady Cantire_ (_offering a cold cheekbone for salutation_). I am in
my usual health, thank you, Albinia. As to last night, if you _must_
ask a literary Socialist down here, you might at least see that he is
received with common courtesy. You may, for anything _you_ can tell,
have advanced the Social Revolution ten years in a single evening!
_Lady Culverin._ My _dear_ Rohesia! If you remember, it was you
yourself who----!
_Lady Cantire_ (_closing her eyes_). I am in no condition to _argue_
about it, Albinia. The slightest exercise of your own common sense
would have shown you---- But there, no great harm has been done,
fortunately, so let us say no more about it. I have something more
agreeable to talk about. I've every reason to hope that Maisie and
dear Gerald Thicknesse----
_Lady Culverin_ (_astonished_). Maisie? But I thought Gerald
Thicknesse spoke as if----!
_Lady Cantire._ Very possibly, my dear. I have always refrained from
giving him the slightest encouragement, and I wouldn't put any
pressure upon dear Maisie for the world--still, I have my feelings as
a mother, and I can't deny that, with such prospects as he has now, it
_is_ gratifying for me to think that they may be coming to an
understanding together at this very moment. She is showing him the
grounds; which I always think are the great charm of Wyvern, so
_secluded_!
_Lady Culverin_ (_puzzled_). Together! At this very moment! But--but
surely Gerald has _gone_?
_Lady Cantire._ Gone! What nonsense, Albinia! Where in the world
should he have gone to?
_Lady Culverin._ He _was_ leaving by the 10.40, I know. For Aldershot.
I ordered the cart for him, and he said good-bye after breakfast. He
seemed so dreadfully down, poor fellow, and I quite concluded from
what he said that Maisie must have----
_Lady Cantire._ Impossible, my dear, quite impossible! I tell you he
is _here_. Why, only a few minutes ago, Mrs. Chatteris was telling
me---- Ah, here she is to speak for herself. (_To_ Mrs. Chatteris,
_who appears, arrayed for divine service_.) Mrs. Chatteris, did I, or
did I _not_, understand you to say just now that my daughter
Maisie----?
_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_alarmed_). But, _dear_ Lady Cantire, I had no idea
you would disapprove. Indeed you seemed---- And really, though she
certainly seems to find him rather well--_sympathetic_--I'm
sure--_almost_ sure--there can be nothing serious--at present.
_Lady Cantire._ Thank you, my dear, I merely wished for an answer to
my question. And you see, Albinia, that Gerald Thicknesse can hardly
have gone yet, since he is walking about the grounds with Maisie.
_Mrs. Chatteris._ Captain Thicknesse? But he _has_ gone, Lady Cantire!
I saw him start. I didn't mean _him_.
_Lady Cantire._ Indeed? then I shall be obliged if you will say who it
is you _did_ mean.
_Mrs. Chatteris._ Why, only her old friend and admirer--that little
poet man, Mr. Blair.
_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). And I actually _sent_ him to her!
(_Rising in majestic wrath._) Albinia, whatever comes of this,
remember I shall hold _you_ entirely responsible!
[_She sweeps out of the room; the other two ladies look
after her, and then at one another, in silent
consternation._