Lyre and Lancet Part 12

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). _Give_ it! He won't get it under a five-pound note, I can tell him. (_He makes his way to_ Miss SPELWANE.) I say, what do you think the old Bishop's been up to?

Pitching into _Andromeda_ like the very dooce--says she's _sickly_!

_Miss Spelwane_ (_to herself_). He brings his literary disappointments to _me_, not Maisie! (_Aloud, with the sweetest sympathy._) How dreadfully unjust! Oh, I've dropped my fan--no, pray don't trouble; I can pick it up. My arms are so long, you know--like a kangaroo's--no, what is that animal which has such long arms? You're so clever, you _ought_ to know!

_Spurrell._ I suppose you mean a gorilla?

_Miss Spelwane._ How crushing of you! But you must go away now, or else you'll find nothing to say to me at dinner--you take me in, you know. I hope you feel privileged. _I_ feel---- But if I told you, I might make you too conceited!

_Spurrell_ (_gracefully_). Oh, it's not so easily done as all _that_!

[Sir RUPERT _approaches with_ Mr. SHORTHORN.

_Sir Rupert._ Vivien, my dear, let me introduce Mr. Shorthorn--Miss Spelwane. (_To_ SPURRELL.) Let me see--ha--yes, you take in Mrs.

Chatteris. Don't know her? Come this way, and I'll find her for you.

[_He marches_ SPURRELL _off_.

_Mr. Shorthorn_ (_to_ Miss SPELWANE). Good thing getting this rain at last; a little more of this dry weather and we should have had no gra.s.s to speak of!

_Miss Spelwane_ (_who has not quite recovered from her disappointment_). And now you _will_ have some gra.s.s to speak of?

_How_ fortunate!

_Spurrell_ (_as dinner is announced, to_ Lady MAISIE). I say, Lady Maisie, I've just been told I've got to take in a married lady. _I_ don't know what to talk to her about. I should feel a lot more at home with you. Couldn't we work it somehow?

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). What a fearful suggestion--but I simply _daren't_ snub him! (_Aloud._) I'm afraid, Mr. Spurrell, we must both put up with the partners we have; most distressing, isn't it--_but_!

[_She gives a little shrug._

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_immediately behind her, to himself_). Gad, _that's_ pleasant! I knew I'd better have gone to Aldershot!

(_Aloud._) I've been told off to take you in, Lady Maisie--not _my_ fault, don't you know.

_Lady Maisie._ There's no need to be so apologetic about it. (_To herself._) Oh, I _hope_ he didn't hear what I said to that wretch!

_Captain Thicknesse._ Well, I rather thought there _might_ be, perhaps.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He _did_ hear it. If he's going to be so stupid as to misunderstand, I'm sure _I_ shan't explain.

[_They take their place in the procession to the dining-hall._

PART X

BORROWED PLUMES

_In_ UNDERSh.e.l.l'S _Bedroom in the East Wing at Wyvern_.

TIME--_About_ 9 P.M.

_The Steward's Room Boy_ (_knocking and entering_). Brought you up some 'ot water, sir, case you'd like to clean up afore supper.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ I presume evening dress is not indispensable in the housekeeper's room; but I can hardly make even the simplest toilet until you are good enough to bring up my portmanteau. Where is it?

_Boy._ I never 'eard nothink of no porkmanteau, sir!

_Undersh.e.l.l._ You will hear a good deal about it, unless it is forthcoming at once. Just find out what's become of it--a new portmanteau, with a white star painted on it.

[_The Boy retires, impressed. An interval._

_Boy_ (_reappearing_). I managed to get a few words with Thomas, our second footman, just as he was coming out o' the 'all, and _he_ sez the only porkmanteau with a white star was took up to the Verney Chamber, which Thomas unpacked it hisself.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ Then tell Thomas, with my compliments, that he will trouble himself to pack it again immediately.

_Boy._ But Thomas has to wait at table, and besides, he says as he laid out the dress things, and the gen'lman as is in the Verney Chamber is a wearin' of 'em now, sir.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_indignant_). But they're _mine_! Confound his impudence! Here, I'll write him a line at once. (_He scribbles a note._) There, see that the gentleman of the Verney Chamber gets this at once, and bring me his answer.

_Boy._ What! _me_ go into the dinin'-'all, with all the swells at table? I dursn't. I should get the sack from old Treddy.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ I don't care who takes it so long as it _is_ taken. Tell Thomas it's _his_ mistake, and he must do what he can to put it right.

Say I shall certainly complain if I don't get back my clothes and portmanteau. Get that note delivered somehow, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (_To himself, as the_ Boy _departs, much against his will._) If Lady Culverin doesn't consider me fit to appear at her dinner-table, I don't see why my evening clothes should be more privileged!

_In the Dining-hall. The table is oval_; SPURRELL _is placed between_ Lady RHODA c.o.kAYNE _and_ Mrs.

BROOKE-CHATTERIS.

_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_encouragingly, after they are seated_). Now, I shall expect you to be very brilliant and entertaining. _I_'ll do all the listening for once in a way--though, generally, I can talk about all manner of silly things with _anybody_!

_Spurrell_ (_extremely ill at ease_). Oh--er--I should say you were quite equal to _that_. But I really can't think of anything to talk _about_.

_Mrs. Chatteris._ That's a bad beginning. I always find the _menu_ cards such a good subject, when there's anything at all out of the common about them. If they're ornamented, you _can_ talk about them--though not for _very_ long at a time, don't you think?

_Spurrell_ (_miserably_). I can't say how long I could go on about _ornamented_ ones--but these are plain. (_To himself._) I can hear this waistcoat going already--and we're only at the soup!

_Mrs. Chatteris._ It _is_ a pity. Never mind; tell me about literary and artistic people. Do you know, I'm rather glad I'm not literary or artistic myself; it seems to make people so _queer-looking_, somehow.

Oh, of course I didn't mean _you_ looked queer--but _generally_, you know. You've made quite a success with your _Andromeda_, haven't you?

I only go by what I'm told--I don't read much myself. We women have so many really serious matters to attend to--arranging about dinners, and visits, and trying on frocks, and then rushing about from party to party. I so seldom get a quiet moment. Ah, I knew I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever know any one called Lady Grisoline?

_Spurrell._ Lady--er--Grisoline? No; can't say I do. I know Lady Maisie, that's all.

_Mrs. Chatteris._ Oh, and _she_ was the original? Now, that _is_ exciting! But I should hardly have recognised her--"lanky," you know, and "slanting green eyes." But I suppose you see everybody differently from other people? It's having so much imagination. I dare say _I_ look green or something to you now--though really I'm _not_.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I don't understand more than about half she's saying. (_Aloud._) Oh, I don't see anything particularly green about _you_.

_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_only partially pleased_). I wonder if you meant that to be complimentary--no, you needn't explain. Now, tell me, is there any news about the Laureateship? Who's going to get it? Will it be Swinburne or Lewis Morris?

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Never heard of the stakes or the horses either. (_Aloud._) Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't been following their form--too many of these small events nowadays.