SCENE II.--_The Morning Room at Wyvern._ Lady RHODA COKAYNE, Mrs.
BROOKE-CHATTERIS, _and_ Miss VIVIEN SPELWANE _are comfortably
established near the fireplace. The_ Hon. BERTIE PILLINER, Captain
THICKNESSE, _and_ ARCHIE BEARPARK _have just drifted in._
_Miss Spelwane._ Why, you _don't_ mean to say you've torn yourselves
away from your beloved billiards already? _Quite_ wonderful!
_Bertie Pilliner._ It's too _horrid_ of you to leave us to play all by
ourselves! We've all got so cross and fractious we've come in here to be
petted!
[_He arranges himself at her feet, so as to exhibit a very neat
pair of silk socks and pumps._
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself_). Do hate to see a fellow come down
in the mornin' with evenin' shoes on!
_Archie Bearpark_ (_to_ BERTIE PILLINER). You speak for yourself,
PILLINER. _I_ didn't come to be petted. Came to see if Lady RHODA
wouldn't come and toboggan down the big staircase on a tea-tray. _Do!_
It's clinkin' sport!
_Capt. Thick._ (_to himself_). If there's one thing I _can't_ stand it's
a rowdy bullyraggin' ass like ARCHIE!
_Lady Rhoda._ Ta muchly, dear boy, but you don't catch me travellin'
downstairs on a tea-tray _twice_--it's just a bit _too_ clinkin', don't
you know!
_Archie_ (_disappointed_). Why, there 's a mat at the bottom of the
stairs! Well, if you won't, let's get up a cushion fight, then. BERTIE
and I will choose sides. PILLINER, I'll toss you for first pick up--come
out of that, do.
_Bertie_ (_lazily_). Thanks, I'm much too comfy where I am. And I don't
see any point in romping and rumpling one's hair just before lunch.
_Archie._ Well, you _are_ slack. And there's a good hour still before
lunch. THICKNESSE, _you_ suggest something, there's a dear old chap.
_Capt. Thick._ (_after a mental effort_). Suppose we all go and have
another look round at the gees--eh, what?
_Bertie._ I beg to oppose. Do let's show _some_ respect for the privacy
of the British hunter. Why should I go and smack them on their fat
backs, and feel every one of their horrid legs twice in one morning? I
shouldn't like a horse coming into my bedroom at all hours to smack _me_
on the back. I should _hate_ it!
_Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris._ I love them--dear things! But still, it's so
wet, and it would mean going up and changing our shoes too--perhaps Lady
RHODA----
[Lady RHODA _flatly declines to stir before lunch_.
_Capt. Thick._ (_resentfully_). Only thought it was better than loafin'
about, that's all. (_To himself._) I do bar a woman who's afraid of a
little mud. (_He saunters up to_ Miss SPELWANE _and absently pulls the
ear of a Japanese spaniel on her knee._) Poo' little fellow, then!
_Miss Spelw._ Poor little fellow? On My lap!!!
_Capt. Thick._ Oh, it--ah--didn't occur to me that he was on _your_ lap.
He don't seem to mind _that_.
_Miss Spelw._ No? _How_ forbearing of him! Would you mind not standing
quite so much in my light, I can't see my work.
_Capt. Thick._ (_to himself, retreating_). That girl's always fishin'
for compliments. I didn't rise _that_ time, though. It's precious slow
here. I've a good mind to say I must get back to Aldershot this
afternoon.
[_He wanders aimlessly about the room;_ ARCHIE BEARPARK
_looks out of window with undisguised boredom._
_Lady Rhoda._ I say, if none of you are goin' to be more amusin' than
this, you may as well go back to your billiards again.
_Bertie._ Dear Lady RHODA, how cruel of you! You'll have to let _me_
stay. I'll be _so_ good. Look here, I'll read aloud to you. I
_can_--quite prettily. What shall it be? you don't care? no more do I.
I'll take the first that comes. (_He reaches for the nearest volume on a
table close by._) How _too_ delightful! Poetry--which I know you _all_
adore.
[_He turns over the leaves._
_Lady Rhoda._ If you ask _me_, I simply loathe it.
_Bertie._ Ah, but then you never heard _me_ read it, you know. Now, here
is a choice little bit, stuck right up in a corner, as if it had been
misbehaving itself. "Disenchantment" it's called.
[_He reads._
"My Love has sicklied unto Loath,
And foul seems all that fair I fancied--
The lily's sheen a leprous growth,
The very buttercups are rancid!"
_Archie._ Jove! The Johnny who wrote that must have been feelin' chippy!
_Bertie. _He gets cheaper than that in the next poem. This is his idea
of "Abasement."
[_He reads._
"With matted head a-dabble in the dust,
And eyes tear-sealed in a saline crust,
I lie all loathly in my rags and rust--
Yet learn that strange delight may lurk in self-disgust."
Now, do you know, I rather like that--it's so very decadent!
_Lady Rhoda._ I should call it utter rot, myself.
_Bertie_ (_blandly_). Forgive me, Lady RHODA. "Utterly rotten," if you
like, but _not_ "utter rot." There's a difference, really. Now, I'll
read you a quaint little production which has dropped down to the bottom
of the page, in low spirits, I suppose. "Stanza written in Depression
near Dulwich."
[_He reads._
"The lark soars up in the air;
The toad sits tight in his hole;
And I would I were certain which of the pair
Were the truer type of my soul!"
_Archie._ I should be inclined to back the toad, myself.
_Miss Spelw._ If you must read, do choose something a little less
dismal. Aren't there any love songs?
_Bertie._ I'll look. Yes, any amount--here's one. (_He reads_). "To My
Lady."
"Twine, lanken fingers lily-lithe,
Gleam, slanted eyes all beryl-green,
Pout, blood-red lips that burst awrithe,
Then--kiss me, Lady GRISOLINE!"
_Miss Spelw._ (_interested_). So _that's_ his type. Does he mention
whether she _did_ kiss him?
_Bertie._ Probably. Poets are always privileged to kiss and tell. I'll
see ... h'm, ha, yes; he _does_ mention it ... I think I'll read
something else. Here's a classical specimen. [_He reads._
"Uprears the monster now his slobberous head,
Its filamentous chaps her ankles brushing;
Her twice-five roseal toes are cramped in dread,
Each maidly instep mauven-pink is flushing."
[Illustration: "I'll read you a regular rouser called 'A Trumpet
Blast.'"]
And so on, don't you know.... Now I'll read you a regular rouser called
"A Trumpet Blast." Sit tight, everybody! [_He reads._
"Pale Patricians, sunk in self-indulgence, (One for _you_, dear
ARCHIE!)
Blink your bleared eyes. (Blink, pretty creatures, blink!)
Behold the Sun--
--Burst proclaim, in purpurate effulgence,
Demos dawning, and the Darkness--done!"
[_General hilarity_, _amidst which_ Lady CULVERIN _enters._
_Lady Culverin._ So _glad_ you all contrive to keep your spirits up, in
spite of this dismal weather. What is it that's amusing you all so much,
eh, dear VIVIEN?
_Miss Spelw._ BERTIE PILLINER has been reading aloud to us, dear Lady
CULVERIN--_the_ most ridiculous poetry--made us all simply shriek.
What's the name of it? (_Taking the volume out of_ BERTIE'S _hand._) Oh,
_Andromeda, and other poems_. By CLARION BLAIR.
_Lady Culv._ (_coldly_). BERTIE PILLINER can turn everything into
ridicule, we all know, but probably you are not aware that these
particular poems are considered quite wonderful by all competent judges.
Indeed, my sister-in-law----
_All_ (_in consternation_). Lady CANTIRE! Is _she_ the author? Oh, of
course, if we'd had any idea!
_Lady Culv._ I've no reason to believe that Lady CANTIRE ever composed
_any_ poetry. I was only going to say that she was most interested in
the author, and as she and my niece MAISIE are coming to us this
evening----
_Miss Spelw._ Dear Lady CULVERIN, the verses are quite, _quite_
beautiful; it was only the way they were read.
_Lady Culv._ I am glad to hear you say so, my dear, because I'm also
expecting the pleasure of seeing the author here, and you will probably
be his neighbour to-night. I hope, BERTIE, that you will remember that
this young man is a very distinguished genius; there is no wit that _I_
can discover in making fun of what one doesn't happen to understand.
[_She passes on._
_Bertie_ (_plaintively, after_ Lady CULVERIN _has left the room_). May I
trouble somebody to scrape me up? I'm pulverised! But really, you know,
a real live poet at Wyvern! I say, Miss SPELWANE, how will you like to
have him dabbling his matted head next to you at dinner, eh?
_Miss Spelw._ Perhaps I shall find a matted head more entertaining than
a smooth one. And if you've quite done with that volume, I should like
to have a look at it.
[_She retires with it to her room._
_Archie_ (_to himself_). I'm not half sorry this Poet-johnny's comin'; I
never caught a Bard in a booby-trap _yet_.
_Capt. Thick._ (_to himself_). She's coming--this very evening! And I
was nearly sayin' I must get back to Aldershot!
_Lady Rhoda._ So Lady CANTIRE's comin'; we shall all have to be on our
hind legs now! But MAISIE'S a dear thing. Do you know her, Captain
THICKNESSE!
_Capt. Thick._ I--I used to meet Lady MAISIE MULL pretty often some time
ago; don't know if she'll remember it, though.
_Lady Rhoda._ She'll love meetin' this writin' man--she's so fearfully
romantic. I heard her say once that she'd give anythin' to be idealised
by a great poet--sort of--what's their names--PETRARCH and LAURA
business, don't you know. It will be rather amusin' to see whether it
comes off--won't it?
_Capt. Thick._ (_choking_). I--ah--no affair of mine, really. (_To
himself._) I'm not intellectual enough for her, I know that. Suppose I
shall have to stand by and look on at the Petrarchin'. Well, there's
always Aldershot!
[_The luncheon gong sounds, to the general relief and
satisfaction._
* * * * *