■ lilfftir!f{t(iMfl|!(U'!((f»l!(!"i c- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES rf Sc! ••V ^.i is n LYEE AND LANCET LYRE AND LANCET A STORY IN SCENES BY F. ANSTEY ATTHOU OF 'VICE VERSA," "THE GIAVX'S KOBE," "VOCES POrULI," ETC. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE. 1895. ^Ml rights reserved.) Jiejirinild front '' Vunrh " htj i-itrmiffwn of the Fropritturs, PR 4-72.9 CONTENTS PART PAGR 1. Shadows cast Before ... ... ... 1 II. Select Passages from a Comixg Poet ... 11 III. The Two Andkosiedas ... ... ... 21 IV. Rushing to Conclusions ... ... ... 31 V. Cross Purposes ... ... ... ... 42 VI. Round Pegs in Square Holes ... ... 53 VII. Ignotcm pro Mirifico ... ... ... 64 VIII. Surprises — Agreeable and Otherwise ... 76 IX. The Mauvais Quart d"Heure ... ... 87 X. Borrowed Plumes ... ... ... 98 XL Time and the Hour... ... ... ... 109 XII. Dignity under Difficulties ... ... 119 XIII. What's in A Name?... ... ... ... 130 XIV. Le Veterinaire Malgre Lui ... ... 141 XV. Trapped! ... ... ... ... ... 152 XVI. An Intellectual Privilege ... ... 163 XVII. A Bomb Shell ... ... ... ... 174 XVIII. The Last Straw ... ... ... 184 XIX. Unearned Increment ... ... ... 194 XX. Different Persons have Different Opinions 204 XXI. The Feelings of a Mother ... ... ... 213 XXII. A Descent from the Clouds ... .. 224 XXIII. Shrinkage ... ... ... .-• ... 2;-^4 XXIV. The Happy Dispatch ... ... ... 244 i'O >KA. CHA.RACTERS Galttiiid Undeeshell ( a minor poet). James Spureell, M.R.C.V.IS. The Countess of Cantiee. Lady Maisie Mcll {her daucjhtiry sle eupeet cclvekin. Laut Odlverin. Lady Ruoda Cokayne. JIes. Brooke-Chatteeis. ]\Iiss Spelwane. The Bishop of Birchester. Lord Lullington. Lady Lxjllington. Mrs. Earwakee. The Honoueable Bi:ktie Pillineu. Captain Thicknesse. Archie Bearpark. Mr. Shorthorn. Drysdale {a joiirnalut), Tanrake (a joh-master). Emma Phillipson {maid to Lady Cantire). Mrs. Pomfret {houseJceeper at Wyvern Court). vni CHARACTERS Miss Stickler {maid to Lady Cdlverin). Miss Dolman {maid to Lady Riioda Cokayxe). Mlle. Chiffon {maid to Miss Spelwajje). M. RiDEVos {chef at Wyvern). Teedwell ( hutler at Wyvern). Steptoe {valet to Sir Rupert Cdlteuin). Thomas (a footman). Adams {stud-groom,). Checkley {head coachmayi). Steward's Room Boy, etc. LYRE AND LANCET A STORY IN SCENES PAET I SHADOWS CAST BEFORE In Sir EuPEiiT Culverin's Study at Wyvern Court. It is a rainy Saturday morning in February. Sir EuPERT is at his ivriting -table, as Lady CULYERIN enters with a deprecatory air. Lady Cidverin. So he^-e you are, Eupert ! Not very busy, are you ? I won't keep you a moment. {She goes to a ivindow.) Such a nuisance it's turning out wet, with all these people in the house, isn't it ? Sir Bupert. Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded accounts, but — (resignedly) — if you think I ought to go and look after B 2 LYRE AND LANCET Lady Cidverin. No, no; the men are playing billiards, and the women are in the morning-room — theyxQ all right. I only wanted to ask you about to-night. You know the LuUingtons, and the dear Bishop and Mrs. Eodney, and one or two other people are coming to dinner ? Well, who ought to take in Eohesia ? Sir Rupert {in dismay). Eohesia ! No idea she was coming down this week ! Lady Culverin. Yes, by the 4.45, With dear Maisie. Surely you knew that ? Sir Rupert. In a sort of way ; didn't realize it was so near, that's all. Lady Culverin. It's some time since we had her last. And she wanted to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off. Sir Rupert. Put her off ? Of course I shouldn't, Albinia. If my only sister isn't welcome at Wy vern at any time — I say at any time — where the deuce is she welcome ? Lady Culverin. I don't know, dear Eupert. But — but about the table ? Sir Rupert. So long as you don't put her near me — that's all / care about. Lady Culverin. I mean — ought I to send her in with Lord Lullington, or the Bishop ? SHADOWS CAST BEFORE 3 Sir Rupert. Why not let 'em toss up ? Loser gets her, of course. Lady Gulverin. Rupert ! As if I could suggest such a thing to the Bishop ! I suppose she'd better go in with Lord Lullington — he's Lord Lieutenant — and then it won't matter if she does advocate Dis- establishment. Oh, but I forgot; she thinks the House of Lords ought to be abolished too ! Sir Rupert. Whoever takes Eohesia in is likely to have a time of it. Talked poor Cantire into his tomb a good ten years before he was due there. Always lecturing, and domineering, and laying down the law, as long as / can remember her. Can't stand Eohesia — never could ! Lady Gulverin. I don't think you ought to say so, really, Eupert. And I'm sure / get on very well with her— generally. Sir Rupert. Because you knock under to her. Lady Gulverin. I'm sure I don't, Eupert — at least, no more than everybody else. Dear Eohesia is so strong-minded and advanced and all that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things, that she can't understand contradictrbn ; she is so democratic in her ideas, don't you know. Sir Ru'pert. Didn't prevent her marrying Cantire. 4 LYRE AND LANCET And a democratic Countess — it's downright un- natural ! Lady Culverin. She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet the People half-way. That reminds me — did I tell you Mr. Clarion Blair is coming down this evening, too ? — only till Monday, Rupert. Sir Rupert. Clarion Blair ! never heard of him. Lady Culverin. I suppose I forgot. Clarion Blair isn't his real name, though ; it's only a — an alias. Sir Rwpert. Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What is his real name ? Lady Culverin. Well, I know it was something ending in " ell," but I mislaid his letter. StiU, Clarion Blair is the name he writes under; he's a poet, Eupert, and quite celebrated, so I'm told. Sir Rupert {uneasily). A poet ! What on earth possessed you to ask a literary fellow down here ? Poetry isn't much in our way ; and a poet will be, confoimdedly ! Lady Culverin. I really couldn't help it, Eupert. Eohesia insisted on my having him to meet her. She likes meeting clever and interesting people. And this Mr. Blair, it seems, has just written a volume of verses which are finer than anything that's been done since — well, for ages ! 'WHAT ON EAEin POSSESSED TOU TO ASK A LITEnAUT FELLOW DOWN HERE?' 6 LYEE AND LANCET Sir Enpert. What sort of verses ? Lady Culverin. Well, they're charmingly bound. I've got the book in the house, somewhere. Eohesia told me to send for it; but I haven't had time to read it yet. Sir Eupcrt. Shouldn't be surprised if Eohesia hadn't, either. Ladrj Culverin. At all events, she's heard it talked about. The young man's verses have made quite a sensation; they're so dreadfully clever and revolu- tionary, and morbid and pessimistic, and all that, so she made me promise to ask him down here to meet her! Sir Eupert. Devilish thoughtful of her. Lady Culverin. Wasn't it ? She thought it might be a valuable experience for him ; he's sprung, I believe, from quite the middle-class. Sir Rupert. Don't see myself why he should be sprung on us. Why can't Eohesia ask him to one of her own places ? Lady Culverin. I dare say she will, if he turns out to be quite presentable. And, of course, he may, Eupert, for anything we can tell. Sir Eupert. Then you've never seen him yourself ! How did you manage to ask him here, then ? Lady Culverin. Oh, I wrote to him through his SHADOWS CAST BEFORE 7 publishers. Eoliesia says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come. Sir Bupert. So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we ? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no tie — or else a red one — if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up ! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia, depend upon it. Lad]/ Ctdverin. Dear Eupert, aren't you just a little bit narrow? You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius — no matter ivhat their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the masses against us. Eohesia thinks so ; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Eevolution, Eupert ! Sir Eupert. Oh, if Eohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Saturday to jMonday, she might do her share of the stemming at aU events. Ladif Cidverin. But you will be nice to him, Eupert, won't you ? Sir Rupert. I don't know that I'm in the habit 8 LYRE AND LANCET of being uncivil to any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I grovel to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is ; you must look after him yourself. / can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about ; I've forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any of his Eed Eepublican theories in rrnj hearing, why Lady CuJvcrin. Oh, but he worCt, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite mild and inoffensive. Look at Shakespeare — the bust, I mean — and he began as a poacher ! Sir Rupert. Ah, and this chap would put down the Game Laws if he could, I dare say ; do away with everything that makes the country worth living in. Why, if he had his way, Albinia, there wouldn't be Ladij Culvcrin. I know, dear, I know. And you must make him see all that from your point. Look, the weather really seems to be clearing a little. We might all of us get out for a drive or something after lunch. I would ride, if Deerfoot's all right again ; he's the only horse I ever feel really safe upon, now. Sir Rupert. Sorry, my dear, but you'll have to drive then. Adams tells me the horse is as lame as SHADOWS CAST BEFORE 9 ever this morning, and he don't know what to make of it. He suggested having Horsfall over, but I've no faith in the local vets myself, so I wired to town for old Spavin. He's seen Deerfoot before, and we could put him up for a night or two. ( To Teed well, the butler, ivho enters with a telegram.) Eh, for me ? just wait, will you, in case there's an answer. {As he opens it.) Ah, this is from Spavin — h'm, nuisance ! "Eegret unable to leave at present, bronchitis, junior partner could attend immediately if required. — Spavin." Never knew he had a partner. Tredwdl. I did hear, Sir Eupert, as Mr. Spavin was looking out for one quite recent, being hasth- matical, m'lady, and so I suppose this is him as the telegram alludes to. Sir Rupert. Very likely. "Well, he's sure to be a competent man. We'd better have him, eh, Albinia ? Lady Culverin. Oh yes, and he must stay till Deerfoot's better. I'll speak to Pomfret about having a room ready in the East Wing for him. Tell him to come by the 4.45, Eupert. We shall be sending the omnibus in to meet that. Sir Eupert. All right, I've told him, (Giving the form to Teedwell.) See that that's sent off at once, please. (After Teedwell has left.) By the way, 10 LYRE AND LANCET Albinia, Eohesia may kick up a row if she has to come up in the omnibus with a vet. eh ? Lady Cidverin. Goodness, so she might! but he needn't go inside. Still, if it goes on raining like this — I'll tell Thomas to order a fly for him at the station, and then there can't be any bother about it. ( 11 ; TAET II SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET In the Morning Boom at Wyvcrn. Lady Ehoda COKAYNE, Mrs. BPtOOKE-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 Spehoane. 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 ! [^Hc 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 ou ! 12 LYRE AND LANCET Archie Bcarparh {to Bertie Pilltnee). You speak for yourself, Pilliner. / didn't come to be petted. Came to see if Lady Pihoda wouldn't come and toboggan down the big staircase on a tea-tray. Do ! It's clinkin' sport ! Captain Thicknesse (to himself). If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a rowdy buUyraggin' ass like Archie ! Lad]/ Rhocia Cohayne. 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 Bearparh {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 Pilliner {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 Bearpark. Well, you are slack. And there's a good hour still before lunch. Thicknesse, yoiL suggest something, there's a dear old chap. Captain Thicknesse {after a mental effort). Suppose we all go and have another look round at the gees — eh, what ? SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET 13 Bertie Pilliner. 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. BrooJce-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 Ehoda [Lady Ehoda Jlatly declines to stir lefore lunch. Captain Thichnesse {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 Spelwane. Poor little fellow ? On my lap ! Captain Thieknesse. Oh, it — ah — didn't occur to me that he was on your lap. He don't seem to mind that. Miss Spelwane. No ? Ifow forbearing of him ! Would you mind not standing quite so much in my light ? I can't see my work. Captain Thichnesse {to himself, retreating). That giiTs always fishin' for compliments. I didn't rise M LYRE AND LANCET 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 ; Aechie Beakpark looJuS out of tuindow with un- disguised horedom. Lady Bhoda. 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 Pilliner. Dear Lady Khoda, 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 readies for the nearest volume on a table close by.) How too delightful ! Poetry — which I know you all adore. [Jle turns over the leaves. Lady Bhoda. If you ask me, I simply loathe it. Bertie Billincr. 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 mis- behaving 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 I " SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMIXG POET 1") Archie Bearparh. Jove ! The Johnny who wrote that must have been feelin' chippy ! Bertie Pilliner. 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 deliciously decadent ! Lady Blioda. I should call it utter rot, myself. Bertie I* miner (blandly). Forgive me, Lady Ehoda. " 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 I " Archie Bcarpark I should be inclined to back the toad, myself Miss Spdwane. If you must read, do choose •now I'll uead vou a begulak rouser called 'a tuumpet blast. SELECT PASSAGES FRUM A COMING POET 17 something a little less dismal. Aren't there any love songs ? Bertie Pilliner. I'll look. Yes, any amount — here's one. {He reads.) " To My Lady." " Twine, lankcn fingers lily-lithe, Gleam, slanted eyes all beryl-green, Pout, blood-red lips that burst awrithe, Then — kiss me, Lady Grisoline ! " Miss Spehoane {interested). So that's his tjrpe. Does he mention whether she did kiss him ? Bertie Pilliner. 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 some- thing 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." 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, sunlc 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. c 18 LYRE Ai^D LANCET Lady Culverin. So glad you all contrive to keep your spirits up, iu spite of this dismal weather. What is it that's amusing you all so much, eh, dear Vivien ? Miss Spdwane. 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 ? {Talcing the volume out of Bertie's hand.) Oh, Andromeda, and other Poems. By Clarion Blair. Ladij C'ldverin {coldly). Bertie Pilliner can turn everything into ridicule, m'c 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 {i7i consternation). Lady Can tire ! Is she the author ? Oh, of course, if we'd had any idea Lady Culverin. 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 S^pelwane. Dear Lady Culverin, the verses are quite, quite beautiful ; it was only the way they Were read. Lady Culverin. I am glad to hear you say so, my SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET 19 dear, because I'm also expecting the pleasure of seeing the author here, and you will prolmbly be his neighbour to-night. I hope, Bertie, that you will remember that this young man is a very dis- tinguished genius ; there is no wit that / can dis- cover in making fun of what one doesn't happen to understand. [She passes on. Bertie {plamtively, 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 Spelwane. 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 loith 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. Captain Thichiesse (to himself). She's coming — this very evenin' ! 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 ? 20 LYRE AND LANCET Captain Thicknesse. I — I used to meet Lady Maisie ]\Iull pretty often at one time ; don't know if she'll remember it, though. Ladij Ehoda. She'll love meetin' this writin' man — she's so fearfully romantic. I heard her say once that she'd give anythin' to be idealized by a great poet — sort of — what's their names — Petrarch and Beatrice business, don't you know. It will be rather amusin' to see whether it comes off — won't it ? Captain Tliichncsse (clwhing). I — ah — no affair of mine, really. {To liiTnself.) 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 ( 21 ) TAET III THE TWO ANDROMEDAS Opposite a Raihvay Bookstall at a London Terminus. Time — Saturday, 4.25 p.m. Drysdale {to his friend, Galfrid Undershell, whom he is " seeing off"). Twenty minutes to spare ; time enough to lay in any quantity of light literature. Undershell {in a head voice). I fear the merely ephemeral does not appeal to me. But I should like to make a little experiment. {To the Bookstall Clerk.) A — do you happen to have a copy left of Clarion Blair's Andromeda ? Clerk. Not in stock, sir. Never 'card of the book, but dare say I could get it for you. Here's a Detective Story we're sellin' like 'ot cakes — The Man ivith the Missing Toe — very cleverly written story, sir. Undershell. I merely wished to know — that was all. {Tu7ming with resigned disgust to Drysdale.) ■^1 ' •'" i / "lIKr.E'S A DF.TF.CTIVE STORY WF.'UE SELLING LIKE 'OT CAKES." THE TWO ANDROMEDAS 23 Just think of it, my dear fellow. At a bookstall like this one feels the pulse, as it were, of Contem- porary Culture ; and here my Andromeda, which no less an authority than the Daily Chronicle hailed as the uprising of a new and splendid era in English Song-making, a Poetic Eenascence, my poor Andro- meda, is trampled underfoot by — (choking) — Men with Missing Toes ! What a satire on our so-called Progress ! Drysdale. That a purblind public should prefer a Shilling Shocker for railway reading when for a modest half-guinea they might obtain a numbered volume of Coming Poetry on hand- made paper ! It does seem incredible, — but they do. Well, if they can't read Andromeda on the journey, they can at least peruse a stinger on it in this week's Saturday. Seen it ? Undershell. No. I don't vex my soul by reading criticisms on my work. I am no Keats. They may howl — but they will not kill me. By the way, the Speaker had a most enthusiastic notice last week. Drysdale. So you saw that then ? But you're right not to mind the others. When a fellow's contrived to hang on to the Chariot of Pame, he can't wonder if a few rude and envious beggars call out " Whip behind ! " eh ? You don't want to get 24 LYKE AND LANCET in yet ? Suppose we take a turn up to the end of the platform. V'^^^^y do. James Spukrell, M.E.C.V.S., enters with Ids friend, Thomas Tanrake, of Hurdell and Taneake, Joh and Biding Masters, Maijfair. Spurrell. Yes, it's lucky for me old Spavin being laid up like this — gives me a regular little outing, do you see ? going down to a swell place like this Wyvern Court, and being put up there for a day or two ! I shouldn't wonder if they do you very well in the housekeeper's room. {To Clerk.) Give me a rink Un and last week's Dog Fancier's Guide. Clcrh. We've returned the unsold copies, sir. Could give you this week's; or there's The Rallit and Poultry Breeder s Journal. Spurrell. Oh, rabbits be bio wed ! {To Tanrake.) I wanted you to see that notice they put in of Andromeda and me, with my photo and all ; it said she was the best bull-bitch they'd seen for many a day, and fully deserved her iirst prize. Tanrake. She's a rare good bitch, and no mistake. But what made you call her such an outlandish name ? Spurrell. Well, I was going to call her Sal ; but a chap at the College thought the other would look more stylish if I ever meant to exhibit her. THE TWO ANDROMEDAS 25 Andromeda was one of them Eoman goddesses, you know. Tanrake. Oh, I knew that right enough. Come and have a drink before you start — just for luck — not that you want that. Spurrell. I'm lucky enough in most things, Tom ; in everything except love. I told you about that girl, you know — Emma — and my being as good as engaged to her, and then, all of a sudden, she went off abroad, and I've never seen or had a line from her since. Can't call that luck, you know. Well, I won't say no to a glass of something. [TheT/ disappear into the refreshment room. The Countess of Cantire enters with her daughter^ Lady Maisie Mull. Lady Cantire {to Footman). Get a compartment for us, and two foot-warmers, and a second-class as near ours as you can for Phillipson ; then come back here. Stay, I'd better give you Phillipson's ticket. {The Tootman disappears in the crowd.) Now we must get something to read on the journey. {To Clerk.) I want a book of some sort — no rubbisli, mind ; something serious and improving, and not a work of fiction. Cleric. Exactly so, ma'am. Let me see. Ah, 26 LYRE AND LANCET here's Alone with the 'Airy Ainoo. How would you like that ? Lady Cantire (toith decision). I should not like it at all. Cle7'Jc. I quite understand. Well, I can give you Three ' Undred Ways of Dressing the Cold Mutton — useful little book for a family, redooced to one and ninepence. Lady Cantire. Thank you. I think I will wait till I am reduced to one and ninepence. Clerh. Precisely. What do you say to Seven ' Undred Side-splittei's for Sixpence ? 'Ighly yumcrous, I assiu'e you. Lady Cantire. Are these times to split our sides, with so many serious social problems pressing for solution ? You are presumably not without intelli- gence ; do you never reflect upon the responsibility you incur in assisting to circulate trivial and frivolous trash of this sort ? Clerh {dubiously). Well, I can't say as I do, particular, ma'am. I'm paid to sell the books — I don't select 'em. Lady Cantire. That is no excuse for you — you ought to exercise some discrimination on your own account, instead of pressing people to buy what can do them no possible good. You can give me a Society Sni'ppets. THE TWO ANDKOMEDAS 27 Lady Maisie. Mamma ! A penny paper that says such rude things about the Eoyal Family ! Lady Cantire. It's always instructive to know what these creatures are saying about one, my dear, and it's astonishing how they manage to find out the things they do. Ah, here's Gravener coming back. He's got us a carriage, and we'd better get in. \_Shc and her daughter enter a first-class com- partment ; Undersiiell a7id Deysdale retwn. Drysdale {to Undershell). Well, I don't see now where the insolence comes in. These people have invited you to stay with them Undershell. But why ? Not because they appre- ciate my work — which they probably only half understand — but out of mere idle curiosity to see what manner of strange beast a Poet may be ! And / don't know this Lady Culverin — never met her in my life! What the deuce does she mean by sending me an invitation ? Why should these smart women suppose that they are entitled to send for a Man of Genius, as if he was their laclzey ? Answer me that ! Drysdale. Perhaps the delusion is encom-aged by the fact that Genius occasionally condescends to answer the bell. 28 LYRE AND LANCET Undershell {reddening). Do you imagine I am going down to this place simply to please them ? Drysdale. I should think it a doubtful kindness, in your present frame of mind; and, as you are hardly going to please yourself, wouldn't it be more dignified, on the whole, not to go at all ? Undershell. You never did understand me ! Some- times I think I was born to be misvmderstood ! But you might do me the justice to believe that I am not going from merely snobbish motives. May I not feel that such a recognition as this is a tribute less to my poor self than to Literature, and that, as such, I have scarcely the right to decline it ? Drysdale. Ah, if you put it in that way, I am silenced, of course. Undershell. Or what if I am going to show these Patricians that — Poet of the People as I am — they can neither patronise nor cajole me ? Drysdcde. Exactly, old chap — what if you are ? Undershell. I don't say that I may not have another reason — a — a rather romantic one — but you would only sneer if I told you ! I know you think me a poor creature whose head has been turned by an undeserved success. Drysdale. You're not going to try to pick a quarrel with an old chum, are you ? Come, you know well THE TWO ANDROMEDAS 29 enough I don't think anything of the sort. I've always said you had the right stuff in you, and would show it some day ; there are even signs of it in Andromeda here and there ; but you'll do better things than that, if you'll only let some of the wind out of your head. I take an interest in you, old fellow, and that's just why it riles me to see you taking yourself so devilish seriously on the strength of a little volume of verse which — between you and me — has been " boomed " for all it's worth, and con- siderably more. You've only got your immortality on a short repairing lease at present, old boy ! Under shell {with bitterness). I am fortunate in possessing such a candid friend. But I mustn't keep you here any longer. Drysdale. Very well. I suppose you're going first ? Consider the feelings of the Culverin footman at the other end ! Undershell (as he fingers a first-class ticket in his pocket). You have a very low view of human nature ! (Rere he becomes aware of a remarkably 'pretty face at a second-class window close by). As it happens, I am travelling second. [^^ 0*^^^ ^'^• Drysdale {at the window). Well, good-bye, old chap. Good luck to you at Wyvern, and remember— wear your livery with as good a grace as possible. 30 LYKE AND LANCET Undershcll. I do not iutcml to wear any livery ■whatever. [The owner of the pretty faee regards Under- siiELL ivith interest. Spurrell {coming out of the refreshment room). What, second — with all my exes, paid ? Not likely ! I'm going to travel in style this journey. No — not a smoker ; don't want to create a bad impression, you know. This will do for me. [i/b gets into a compartment occupied hy Lady Cantire and her daughter. Tanrahe {at the windoiv). There — you're off now. Pleasant journey to you, old man. Hope you'll enjoy yourself at this Wyvern Court you're going to— and, I say, don't forget to send me that notice of Andromeda when you get back ! \_The Countess and Lady Maisie start slightly ; tlie train moves out of the station. ( 31 ) PAET IV nUSIIIXG TO CONCLUSIONS Li a First-class Compartment. Sjncrrdl (to himself). Formidable old party oppo- site me in the furs ! Nice-looking girl over in the corner ; not a patch on my Emma, though ! "Wonder why I catch 'em sampling me over their papers •vrhenever I look up ! Can't be anything wrong with my turn out. Why, of course, they heard Tom talk about my going down to Wy vern Court ; think I'm a visitor there and no end of a duke! Well, what snobs some people are, to be sure ! Lady Cantire {to herself). So this is the young poet I made Albinia ask to meet me, I can't be mistaken, I distinctly heard his friend mention Andromeda. H'm, well, it's a comfort to iind he's clean ! Have I read his poetry or not ? I know I had the book, because I distinctly remember telling Maisie she wasn't to read it — but — well, that's of no 82 LYRIC AND LANCET. consequence. He looks clever and quite respectable — not in the least picturesque — which is fortunate. I was beginning to doubt whether it was quite prudent to bring Maisie ; but I needn't have worried myself. Lady Ilaisie (to herself). Here, actually in the same carriage ! Does he guess who / am ? Some- how Well, he certainly is different from what I expected. I thought he would show more signs of having thought and suffered; for he must have suffered to write as he does. If mamma knew I had read his poems ; that I had actually written to beg him not to refuse Aunt Albinia's invitation ! He never wrote back. Of course I didn't put any address ; but still, he could have found out from the Eed Book if he'd cared. I'm rather glad now he didnH care. Spurrell {to himself). Old girl seems as if she meant to be sociable ; better give her an opening. {Aloud.) Hem ! would you like the window down an inch or two ? Lady Cantire. ISTot on my account, thank you. Sjourrell {to himself). Broke the ice, anyway. {Aloud.) Oh, / don't want it down, but some people have such a mania for fresh air. Lady Cantire {ivith a dignified little shiver). Have BUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 33 they ? With a temperature as glacial as it is in here ! They must be maniacs indeed ! Spurrell. Well, it is chilly; been raw all day. (To himself.) She don't answer. I havent broken the ice. {^Se produces a memorandum "booh. Lady Maisie {to herself). He hasn't said anything very original yet. So nice of him not to pose ! Oh, he's got a note-book ; he's going to compose a poem. How interesting ! Spurrell {to himself). Yes, I'm all right if Helio- graph wins the Lincolnshire Handicap ; lucky to get on at the price I did. Wonder what's the latest about the City and Suburban ? Let's see whether the Pink Un has anything about it. \_2Ie refers to the Sporting Times. Lady Maisie {to herself). The inspiration's stopped — vjhat a pity ! How odd of him to read the Glole ! I thought he was a Democrat ! Lady Gantire. Maisie, there's quite a clever little notice in Society Snippets about the dance at Skympings last week. I'm sure I wonder how they pick up these things ; it quite bears out what I was told ; says the supper arrangements were " simply disgraceful ; not nearly enough champagne ; and what there was, undrinkable ! " So like poor dear Lady "Chesepare; never does do D EUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 35 things like anybody else. I'm sure I've given her hints enough ! Spurrell {to himself, ivith a suppressed grin). Wants to let me see she knows some swells. Now ain't that paltry ? Lady Cantire {tendering the pap)er). Would you like to see it, Maisie? Just this bit here; where my finger is. Lady Maisie {to herself, flushing). I saw him smile. What must he think of us, with his splendid scorn for rank ? {Aloud.) No, thank you, mamma : such a wretched light to read by ! Spurrell {to himself). Chance for me to cut in ! {Aloud) Beastly light, isn't it ? 'Pon my word, the company ought to provide us with a dog and string apiece when we get out ! Lady Cantire (bringing a pair of long-handled glasses to hear up)on him). I happen to hold shares in this line. May I ask why you consider a pro- vision of dogs and string at all the stations a neces- sary or desirable expenditure ? Spurrell. Oh — er — well, you know, I only meant, bring on blindness and that. Harmless attempt at a joke, that's all. Lady Cantire. I see, I scarcely expected that you would condescend to such weakness. I — ah — think 36 LYRE AND LANCET you are going down to stay at Wyvern for a few days, are you not ? Spurrell {to himself). I was right. What Tom said did fetch the old girl; no harm in humouring her a bit. {Aloud.) Yes — oh yes, they — aw — wanted me to run down when I could. Lady Gantire. I heard they were expecting you. You will find Wyvern a pleasant house — for a short visit. Spiirrdl {to himself). She heard! Oh, she wants to kid me she knows the Culverins. Eats ! {Aloud.) Shall I, though ? I dare say. Lady Cantire. Lady Culverin is a very sweet woman ; a little limited, perhaps, not intellectual, or quite what one would call the grande dame; but perhaps that could scarcely be expected. Spurrell {vaguely). Oh, of course not — no. {To himself.) If she bluffs, so can I ! {Aloud.) It's funny your turning out to be an acquaintance of Lady C.'s, though. Lady Cantire. You think so? But I should hardly call myself an acquaintanee. Spurrell {to himself). Old cat's trying to back out of it now ; she shan't, though ! {Aloud.) Oh, then I suppose you know Sir Eupert best ? Lady Gantire, Yes, I certainly know Sir Eupert better. RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 37 Simrrell {to himself). Oh, you do, do you ? We'll see. {Aloud.) Nice cheery old chap. Sir Eupert, isn't he ? I must tell him I travelled down in the same carriage with a particular friend of his. {To himself.) That'll make her sit up ! Lady Cantire. Oh, then you and my brother Eupert have met already ? Spurrell {aghast). Your brother ! Sir Eupert Cul- verin your ! Excuse me — if I'd only known, I — I do assure you I never should have dreamt of saying ! Lady Cantire {graciously). You've said nothing whatever to distress yourself about. You couldn't possibly be expected to know who I was. Perhaps I had better tell you at once that I am Lady Cantire, and this is my daughter, Lady Maisie Mull. (Spue- KELL returns Lady Maisie's little hoio in the deepest confusion.) We are going down to Wjrvern too, so I hope we shall very soon become better ac- quainted. Spurrell {to himself, overivhelmcd). The deuce we shall! I have got myself into a hole this time; I wish I could see my way well out of it ! Why on earth couldn't I hold my confounded tongue? I shall look an ass when I tell 'em. [He sits staring at them in silent emharrassmenf. 38 LYRE AND LANCET In a Second-class Compartment. Undershcll {to liimsdf). Singularly attractive face this girl lias ; so piquant and so refined ! I can't help fancying she is studying me under her eye- lashes. She has remarkably bright eyes. Can she be interested in me ? Does she expect me to talk to her ? There are only she and I — but no, just now I would rather be alone with my thoughts. This Maisie Mull whom I shall meet so soon; what is s/tc like, I wonder ? I presume she is unmarried. If I may judge from her artless little letter, she is young and enthusiastic, and she is a passionate admirer of my verse; she is longing to meet me. I suppose some men's vanity would be flattered by a tribute like that. I think I must have none ; for it leaves me strangely cold. I did not even reply ; it struck me that it would be difficult to do so with any dignity, and she didn't tell me where to write to. . . . After all, how do I know that this will not end — like everything else — in disillusion ? Will not such crude girlish adoration pall upon me in time ? If she were exceptionally lovely ; or say, even as charming as this fair fellow-passenger of mine — why then, to be sure — but no, something warns me that that is not to be. I shall find her RUSHING TO COKCLUSIONS 39 plain, sandy, freckled ; she will render me ridiculous by her undiscriminating gush. . . . Yes, I feel my heart sink more and more at the prospect of this visit. Ah me ! [HCe sighs heavily. His Felloiv Passenger {to herself). It's too silly to be sitting here like a pair of images, considering that {Aloud.) I hope you aren't feeling un- well ? Undershell. Thank you, no, not unwell. I was merely thinking. His Fellow Passenger. You don't seem very cheer- ful over it, I must say. I've no wish to be inquisitive, but perhaps you're feeling a little low-spirited about the place you're going to ? Undershell. I — I must confess I am rather dread- ing the prospect. How wonderful that you should have guessed it ! His Felloiv Passenger. Oh, I've been through it myself. I'm just the same when I go down to a new place ; feel a sort of sinking, you know, as if the people were sure to be disagreeable, and I should never get on with them. Undershell. Exactly my own sensations! If I could only be sure of finding one kindred spirit, one soul who would help and understand me. But I daren't let myself hope even for that ! 40 LYRE AND LANCET His Fellow Passenger. Well, I wouldn't judge beforehand. The chances are there'll be somebody you can take to. Undershcll {to liimself). What sympathy! What bright, cheerful common sense ! (Aloud.) Do you know, you encourage me more than you can possibly imagine ! His Felloiv Passenger {retreating). Oh, if you are going to take my remarks like that, I shall be afraid to go on talking to you ! Undershcll {with pathos). Don't — do7i't be afraid to talk to me! If you only knew the comfort you give! I have foimd life very sad, very solitary. And true sympathy is so rare, so refreshing. I — I fear such an appeal from a stranger may seem a little startling ; it is true that hitherto we have only exchanged a very few sentences; and yet already I feel that we have something — much — in common. You can't be so cruel as to let all intimacy cease here — it is quite tantalising enough that it must end so soon. A very few more minutes, and this brief episode will be only a memory; I shall have left the little green oasis far behind me, and be facing the dreary desert once more — alone ! His Fellow Passenger {laughing). Well, of all the uncomplimentary things ! As it happens, though, RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 41 " the little green oasis " — as you're kind enough to call me — won't be left behind ; not if it's aware of it ! I think I heard your friend mention Wyvern Court ! Well, that's where /'m going, Undershell (excitedly). You — you are going to Wyvern Court ! Why, then, you must be l^IIe checJis himself. His Fellow Passenger. What were you going to say ; what must I be ? Undershell {to himself). There is no doubt about it; bright, independent girl; gloves a trifle worn; travels second-class for economy; it must be Miss Mull herself; her letter mentioned Lady Culverin as her aunt. A poor relation, probably. She doesn't suspect that I am I won't reveal myself just yet ; better let it dawn upon her gradually. {Aloud.) Why, I was only about to say, why then you must be going to the same house as I am. How extremely fortunate a coincidence ! His Felloiv Passenger. That remains to be seen. {To herself.) What a funny little man; such a flowery way of talking for a footman. Oh, but I forgot; he said he wasn't going to wear livery. Well, he would look a sight in it ! 42 LYRE AND LANCET PART V CKOSS PUEPOSES In a First-class Compartment. Lady Maisic (to herself). Poets don't seem to have much self-possession. He seems perfectly overcome by hearing my name like that. If only he doesn't lose his head completely and say some- thing about my wretched letter ! Spurrell (to himself). I'd better tell 'em before they find out for themselves. (Aloud ; desperately.) My lady, I — I feel I ought to explain at once how I come to be going down to Wyvern like this. [Lady Maisie only just suppresses a terrified ^protest. Lady Cantire (benignly amused). My good sir, there's not the slightest necessity; I am perfectly aware of who you are, and everything about you ! CROSS PURPOSES 43 Spurrell {incredulously). But really I don't see liow your ladyship Why, I haven't said a word that Lady Cantire {with a solemn wagyishness.) Cele- brities who mean to preserve their incognito shouldn't allow their friends to see them off. I happened to hear a certain Andromeda mentioned, and that was quite enough for Me ! Spurrell {to himself, relieved). She knows; seen the sketch of me in the Doy Fancier, I expect ; goes in for breeding bulls herself, very likely. Well, that's a load off my mind ! {Aloud.) You don't say so, my lady. I'd no idea your ladyship would have any taste that way ; most agreeable surprise to me, I can assure you ! Lady Cantire. I see no reason for surprise in the matter. I have always endeavoured to cultivate my taste in all directions ; to keep in touch with every modern development. I make it a rule to read and see everythiny. Of course, I have no time to give more than a rapid glance at most things; but I hope some day to be able to have another look at your Andromeda. I hear the most glowing accounts from all the judges. Spurrell {to himself). She knows all the judges ! She must be in the fancy! {Aloud.) Any time 44 LYRE AND LANCET your ladysliip likes to name I shall be proud and happy to bring her round for your inspection. Lady Cantire {with condescension). If you are kind enough to offer me a copy of Andromeda, I shall be most pleased to possess one. Spurrell {to himself). Sharp old customer, this; trying to rush me for a pup. / never offered her one! {Aloud.) Well, as to that, my lady, I've promised so many already, that really I don't — but there — I'll see what I can do for you. I'll make a note of it ; you mustn't mind having to wait a bit. Lady Cantire {raising her eyebrows). I will make an effort to support existence in the meantime. Lady Maisie {to herself). I couldn't have believed that the man who could write such lovely verses should be so — well, not exactly a gentleman ! How petty of me to have such thoughts. Perhaps geniuses never are. And as if it mattered ! And I'm sure he's very natural and simple, and I shall like him when I know him better. \^The train slacJcens. Lady Cantire. What station is this ? Oh, it is Shuntingbridge. {To Spukrell, as they get out.) Now, if you'll kindly take charge of these bags, and go and see whether there's anything from Wyvern to meet us — you will find us here when you come back. CROSS PURPOSES 45 On the Platform at Shuntinghridge, Lady Cantire. Ah, there you are, Phillipson ! Yes, you can take the jewel-case ; and now you had better go and see after the trunks. (Phillipson hurries hack to the luggage-van ; Spukrell returns.) Well, Mr. — I always forget names, so I shall call you ' Andromeda " — have you found out The omni- bus, is it ? Very well, take us to it, and we'll get in. \_Thcy go outside. Undershcll {at another 2yart of the platform — to himself). Where has Miss Mull disappeared to ? Oh, there she is, pointing out her luggage. What a quantity she travels with ! Can't be such a very poor relation. How graceful and collected she is, and how she orders the porters about ! I really believe I shall enjoy this visit. (To a porter.) That's mine — the brown one with a white star. I want it to go to Wyvern Court — Sir Eupert Cul- verin's. Porter (shoiddering it). Eight, sir. Follow me, if you please. [iZc disappears with if. Undershell (to himself). I mustn't leave Miss Mull alone. {Advancing to her.) Can I be of any assist- ance? 46 LYRE AND LANCET Phillipson. It's all done now. But you might try and find out how we're to get to the Court, [Undeeshell departs ; is requested to produce Ms ticliet, and spends several minutes in searching every jpochet hut the right one. In the Station Yard at Shuntinghridge. Lady Cantire (from the interior of the Wyvern omnibus, testily, to Footman). What are we waiting for now ? Is my maid coming with us — or how ? Footman. There's a fly ordered to take her, my lady. Lady Cantire {to Spukrell, who is standing helow). Then it's yoic who are keeping us ! Spurrell. If your ladyship will excuse me. I'll just go and see if they've put out my bag. Lady Cantire {impatiently). Never mind about your bag. {To Footman.) What have you done with this gentleman's luggage ? Footman. Everything for the Court is on top now, my lady. [Ee opens the door for Spukeell. Lady Cantire {to Spueeell, who is still irresolute). For goodness' sake don't hop about on that step] Come in, and let us start. Lady Maisie. Please get in — there's plenty of room ! Spurrell {to himself). They are chummy, and no SEARCHING EVEBT POCKET BUT THE BIGHT ONE. 48 LYRE AND LANCET mistake ! {Aloud, as he gets in.) I do hope it won't be considered any intrusion — my coming up along with your ladyships, I mean ! Zad'i/ Cantire {snappishly). Intrusion ! I never heard such nonsense ! Did you expect to be asked to run behind ? You really mustn't be so ridiculously modest. As if your Andromeda hadn't procured you the entree everywhere ! \,The oinnihus starts. Spurrell {to himself). Good old Drummy! No idea I was such a swell. I'll keep my tail up. Shy- ness ain't one of my failings. {Aloud, to an indistinct mass at the further end of the omnihus, which is un- lighted.) Er — hum — pitch dark night, my lady, don't get much idea of the country ! {The mass makes no response) I was saying, my lady, it's too dark to {The mass snores peacefully.) Her ladyship seems to be taking a snooze on the quiet, my lady. {To Lady Maisie.) {To himself) Not that that's the term for it ! Lady Maisie {distantly). My mother gets tired rather easily, {To herself.) It's really too dreadful ; he makes me hot all over ! If he's going to do this kind of thing at Wyvern! And I'm more or less responsible for him, too ! I must see if I can't It will be only kind. {Aloud, nervously.) Mr. — ]VIr. Blair! CROSS PURPOSES 49 Spurrell. Excuse me, my lady, not Blair — Spmrell. Lady Maisie. Of coiirse, how stupid of me. I knew it wasn't really your name. Mr. Spurrell, then, you — you won't mind if I give you just one little hint, ^uill you ? S'purrell. I shall take it kindly of your ladyship, whatever it is. Lady Maisie {more nervously still). It's really such a trifle, but — but, in speaking to mamma or me, it isn't at all necessary to say " my lady " or " your ladyship." I — I mean, it sounds rather, well — formal, don't you know ! Spurrell {to himself). She's going to be chummy now ! {Aloud.) I thought, on a first acquaintance, it was only manners. Lady Maisie. Oh — manners ? yes, I — I dare say — but still — but still — not at Wyvern, don't you know. If you like, you can call mamma " Lady Cantire," and me "Lady Maisie," now and then, and, of course, my aunt will be " Lady Culverin," but — but if there are other people staying in the house, you needn't call them anything, do you see? Spurrell {to himself). I'm not likely to have the chance ! {Aloud.) Well, if you're sure they won't mind it, because I'm not used to this sort of thing, 50 LYRE AND LANCET SO I put myself entirely in your hands, — for, of course, you know what brought me down here ? Lady Maisie {to herself). He means my foolish letter ! Oh, I must put a stop to that at once ! {hi a hurried undertone.) Yes — yes ; I — I think I do I mean, I ^oknow — but — but ^Zease forget it — indeed, you must I Spurrell {to himself). Forget I've come down as a vet? The Culverins will take care I don't forget that ! {Aloud.) But, I say, it's all very well ; but how can I ? Why, look here ; I was told I was to come down here on purpose to Lady Maisie {on thorns). I know — you needn't tell me ! And don't speak so loud ! Mamma might hear ! Spurrell {puzzled). What if she did ? Why, I thought her la — your mother knew ! Jjady Maisie {to herself). He actually thinks I should teU mamma ! Oh, how dense he is ! {Aloud.) Yes — yes — of course she knows — but — but you might wake her ! And — and please don't allude to it again — to me or — or any one. {To herself.) That I should have to beg him to be silent like this ! But what can I do ? Goodness only knows what he mightn't say, if I don't warn him ! Spurrell {nettled). I don't mind who knows. I'm CROSS PURPOSES 51 not ashamed of it, Lady Maisie — whatever you may be! Lady Maisie {to herself, exasperated). He dares to imply that /'ve done something to be ashamed of! {Aloud, haughtily.) I'm not ashamed — why should I be ? Only — oh, can't you really understand that — that one may do things which one wouldn't care to be reminded of publicly ? I don't wish it — isn't that enough ? Spurrell {to himself). I see what she's at now — doesn't want it to come out that she's travelled down here with a vet ! {Aloud, stiffly.) A lady's wish is enough for me at any time. If you're sorry for having gone out of your way to be friendly, why, I'm not the person to take advantage of it. I hope I know how to behave. \He takes refuge in offended silence. Lady Maisie {to herself). Why did I say anything at aU ! I've only made things worse — I've let him see that he has an advantage. And he's certain to use it sooner or later — unless I am civil to him. I've offended him now — and I shall have to make it up with him ! Spurrell {to himself). I thought all along she didn't seem as chummy as her mother — but to turn round on me like this ! Lady Cantire {waking up). Well, Mr. Andromeda, 52 LYRE AND LANCET I should have thought you and my daughter might have found some subject in common ; but I haven't heard a word from either of you since we left the station. Lady Maisie {to herself). Tliat's some comfort! {Aloud.) You must have had a nap, mamma. We — we have been talking, Spurrell. Oh yes, we have been talking, I can assure you. Lady Cantire ! Lady Cantire. Dear me. Well, Maisie, I hope the conversation was entertaining ? Lady Maisie. M — most entertaining, mamma ! Lady Cantire. I'm quite sorry I missed it. {The omnibus stops.) Wyvern at last ! But what a journey it's been, to be sure ! Spurrell {to himself). I should just think it had. I've never been so taken up and put down in all my life ! But it's over now ; and, thank goodness, I'm not likely to see any more of 'em ! [iZc gets out vjith alacrity. ( 53 ) PAET VI ROUND PEGS IN SQUAEE HOLES In the Entrance Hall at Wyvcrn. Tredwell {to Lady Cantiee). This way, if you please, my lady. Her ladyship is iu the Harnber Boudwore, Lady Cantire. Wait. {She looks round.) What has become of that young Mr. Androm ? {Per- ceiving Spurrell, who has heen modestly endeavouring to efface himself.) Ah, there he is ! Now, come along, and be presented to my sister-in-law. She'll be enchanted to know you ! Spurrell. But indeed, my lady, I — I think I'd better wait till she sends for me. Lady Cantire. Wait ? Fiddlesticks ! What ! A famous young man like you ! Eemember Andro- meda, and don't make yourself so ridiculous ! Spurrell {miseraUy). Well, Lady Cantire, if her 54 LYRE AND LANCET ladyship says anything, I hope you'll bear me out that it wasn't Lady Caniire. Bear you out? My good young man, you seem to need somebody to bear you in ! Come, you are under my wing. / answer for your welcome — so do as you're told. Spurrdl (to himself, as he follows resignedly). It's my belief there'U be a jolly row when I do go in ; but it's not my fault ! Trcdivell {opening the door of the Amher Boudoir). Lady Cantire and Lady Maisie Mull. (To Spuerell.) What name, if you please, sir ? Sjjurrell {dolefully). You can say " James Spurrell " — you needn't hellow it, you know ! Tredtvell {ignoring this suggestion). Mr. James Spurrell. Spurrell (to himself, on the threshold). If I don't get the chuck for this, I shall be surprised, that's all ! [He enters. In a Fly. Undershell {to himself). Alone with a lovely girl, who has no suspicion, as yet, that I am the poet whose songs have thrilled her with admiration ! Coidd any situation be more romantic ? I think I must keep up this little mystification as long as possible. "WHAT NAME, IF TOU PLEASE, SIR?" 56 LYRE AND LANCET Phillipson (to herself). I wonder who he is? Somebody's Man, I suppose. I do believe he's struck with me. Well, I've no objection. I don't see why I shouldn't forget Jim now and then — he's quite forgotten me ! {Aloud.) They might have sent a decent carriage for us instead of this ramshackle old summerhouse. We shall be hours getting to the house at this rate ! Undershell {gallantly). For my part, I care not how long we may be. I feel so unspeakably content to be where I am. Phillijyson {disdainfully). In this mouldy, lumber- ing old concern ? You must be rather easily con- tented, then ! Undershell {dreamily). It travels only too swiftly. To me it is a veritable enchanted car, drawn by a magic steed. Phillipson. 1 don't know whether he's magic — but I'm sure he's lame. And stufl&ness is not my notion of enchantinent. Undershell. I'm not prepared to deny the stuffi- ness. But cannot you guess what has transformed this vehicle for me — in spite of its undeniable shortcomings — or must I speak more plainly still ? Phillipson. Well, considering the shortness of our ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 57 acquaintance, I must say you've spoken quite plainly enough as it is ! Under shell. I know I must seem unduly expansive, and wanting in reserve ; and yet that is not my true disposition. In general, I feel an almost fastidious shrinking from strangers , Phillipson {with a little laugh). Eeally? 1 shouldn't have thought it ! Undershell. Because, in the present case, I do not — I cannot — feel as if we were strangers. Some mysterious instinct led me, almost from the first, to associate you with a certain Miss Maisie Mull. Fhillipson. Well, I wonder how you discovered that. Though you shouldn't have said "Miss" — Lady Maisie IMull is the proper form. Undershell (to himself). Lady Maisie Mull! I attach no meaning to titles — and yet nothing but rank could confer such perfect ease and distinction. (Aloud.) I should have said Zadi/ Maisie Mull, undoubtedly — forgive my ignorance. But at least I have divined you. Does nothing tell you who and what / may be ? Phillipson. Oh, I think I can give a tolerable guess at what you are. Undershell. You recognize the stamp of the Muse upon me, then ? 58 LYRE AND LANCET Pliillipson. Well, I shouldn't have taken you for a groom exactly. Undershell (with some chagrin). You are really too flattering ! Phillipson. Am I ? Then it's your turn now. You might say you'd never have taken me for a lady's maid ! Undershell. I might — if I had any desire to make an unnecessary and insulting remark. Phillipson. Insulting? Why, it's what I am! I'm maid to Lady Maisie. I thought your mysteri- ous instinct told you all about it ? Undershell (to himself — after the first shock). A lady's maid ! Gracious Heaven ! What have I been saying — or rather, what haven't I ? (Aloud.) To — to be sure it did. Of course, I quite understand that. (To himself.) Oh, confound it all, I wish we were at Wy vern ! Phillipson. And, after all, you've never told me who you are. Who are you ? Undershell (to himself). I must not humiliate this poor girl ! (Aloud.) I ? Oh — a very insignificant person, I assure you! (To himself.) This is an occasion in which deception is pardonable — even justifiable ! Phillipson. Oh, I knew that much. But you let ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 69 out just now you had to do with a Mews. You aren't a rough-rider, are you ? UndersheU. N — not exactly — not a rour/h-rider. (To Jdmself.) IsTever on a horse in my life ! — unless I count my Pegasus. (Aloud.) But you are right in supposing I am connected with a muse — in one sense. PhilliiJson. I said so, didn't I ? Don't you think it was rather clever of me to spot you, when you're not a bit horsey-looking ? UndersheU (vAtli elahorate irony). Accept my com- pliments on a power of penetration which is simply phenomenal ! Philli])son (giving him a little push). Oh, go along ■ — it's all talk with you — I don't believe you mean a word you say ! UndersheU (to himself). She's becoming absolutely vulgar. (Aloud.) I don't — I don't; it's a manner I have ; you mustn't attach any importance to it — none whatever ! Phillipson. What! Not to all those high-flown compliments ? Do you mean to tell me you are only a gay deceiver, then ? UndersheU (in horror). Not a deceiver, no; and decidedly not gay. I mean I did mean the compli- ments, of course. (To himself.) I miistn't let her b'U LYRE AND LANCET suspect anything, or she'll get talking about it; it would be too horrible if this were to get round to Lady Maisie or the Culverins — so undignified; and it would ruin all my prestige ! I've only to go on playing a part for a few minutes, and — maid or not — she's a most engaging girl ! \^He goes on ^playing the part, ivith the un- expected result of sending IViiss Phillip- SON into Jits of uncontrollable laughter. At a Bach Entrance at Wyvern. The Fly has just set doion Phillipson and Undeeshell. Trcdwell (receiving Phillipsox). Lady Maisie's maid, I presume? I'm the butler here — Mr. Tred- well. Your ladies arrived some time back. I'll take you to the housekeeper, who'll show you their rooms, and where yours is, and I hope you'll find everything comfortable. (In an undertone, indicating UndePiSHELL, who is aivaiting recognition in the door- way.) Do you happen to know who it is ivith you ? Phillipson (in a whisper). I can't quite make him out — he's so flighty in his talk. But he says he belonQjs to some Mews or other. Tredwell. Oh, then / know who he is. We expect him right enough. He's a partner in a crack firm of ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 61 Vets. We've seut for him special. I'd better see to him, if you don't mind finding your own way to the housekeepers room, second door to the left, down that corridor. (Phillipson deimrts.) Good evening to you, Mr. — ah — Mr. ? Undershdl {coming forward). Mr. Uudershell. Lady Culverin expects me, I believe. Trcdwell. Quite correct, Mr. Undershell, sir. She do. Leastwise, I shouldn't say myself she'd require to see you — well, not Icfore to-morrow morning — but you won't mind tliat, I dare say. Undershell (choldng). Not mind that ! Take me to her at once ! Trcdwell. Couldn't take it on myself, sir, really. There's no particular 'urry. I'll let her ladyship know you're 'ere ; and if she wants you, she'll send for you ; but, with a party staying in the 'ouse, and others dining with us to-night, it ain't likely as she'll have time for you till to-morrow. Undershell. Oh, then wdienever her ladyship should find leisure to recollect my existence, will you have the goodness to inform her that I have taken the liberty of returning to town by the next train ? Tredwell. Lor! Mr. Undershell, you aren't so pressed as all that, are you ? I know my lady 62 LYRE AND LANCET wouldn't like you to go without seeing you person- ally ; no more wouldn't Sir Eupert. And I under- stood you was coming down for the Sunday ! TJnderwell {furious). So did / — but not to be treated like this ! Tredwcll (sootliingly). Why, you know what ladies are. And you couldn't see Deerfoot — not properly, to-night, either. Under shell. I have seen enough of this place already. I intend to go back by the next train, I tell you. Trcdwell. But there ain't any next train up to- night — being a loop line — not to mention that I've sent the fly away, and they can't spare no one at the stables to drive you in. Come, sir, make the best of it. I've had my borders to see that you're made comfortable, and Mrs. Pomfret and me will expect the pleasure of your company at supper in the 'ousekeeper's room, 9.30 sharp. I'll send the steward's room boy to show you to your room. \_IIe goes, leaving Undekshell speechless. Undershell {almost foaming). The insolence of these cursed aristocrats ! Lady Culverin will see me when she has time, forsooth ! I am to be enter- tained in the servants' hall ! This is how our upper classes honour Poetry ! I won't stay a single hour ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 63 under their infernal roof. I'll walk. But where to ? And how about my luggage ? [Phillipson returns. Philli])son. Mr. Tredwell says you want to go already ! It can't be true ! Without even waiting for supper ? Undershell {gloomily). Why should I wait for supper in this house ? Phillipson. Well, / shall be there ; I don't know if that's any inducement. IShe looks down. Undershell {to himself). She is a singularly be- witching creature ; and I'm starving. Why shouldn't I stay — if only to shame these Culverins ? It will be an experience — a study in life. I can always go afterwards. I will stay. {Aloud.) You little know the sacrifice you ask of me, but enough ; I give way. We shall meet — {ivith a gulp) — in the housekeeper's room ! Phillipson {highly amused). You are a comical' little man. You'll be the death of me if you go on like that ! \_She fiits aivay. Undershell {alone). I feel disposed to be the death of somebody ! Oh, Lady Maisie Mull, to what a bathos have you lured your poet by your artless flattery — a banquet presided over by your aunt's butler ! 64 LYRE AND LANCET PAET YII IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO TIlc Amber Boudoir at Wyvern immediately after Lady Cantire and her daughter have entered. Lady Cantire {in re^ly to Lady Culverin). Tea ? oh yes, my dear ; anything warm ! I'm positively perished — that tedious cold journey and the long drive afterwards ! I always tell Eupert he would see me far oftener at Wyvern if he would only get the company to bring the line round close to the park gates, but it has no effect upon him! {As Teedwell announces Spurrell, who enters in trepi- dation.) Mr. James Spurrell! Who's Mr. ? Oh, to be sure ; that's the name of my interesting young poet — Andromeda, you know, my dear ! Go and be pleasant to him, Albinia, he wants reassuring. Lady Culverin {a trifle nervous). How do you do, ■^^ — ah — Spurrell? {To herself.) I said he ended in "'ell'M {Aloud.) So pleased to see you! We IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 65 think so much of your Andromeda here, you know. Quite delightful of you to find time to run down ! Siourrell {to himself). Why, she's chummy, too ! Old Drummy pulls me through everything ! {Aloud.) Don't name it, my la — hum — Lady Culverin. No trouble at all ; only too proud to get your summons ! Lady Culverin {to herself). He doesn't seem very revolutionary ! {Aloud.) That's so sweet of you ; when so many must be absolutely fighting to get you! Spurrell. Oh, as for that, there is rather a run on me just now, but I put everything else aside for you, of course ! Lady Culverin {to herself). He's soon reassured. {Aloud, with a toueh of frost.) I am sure we must consider ourselves most fortunate. {Turning to the Countess.) You did say cream, Eohesia ? Sugar, Maisie dearest ? Spurrell {to himself). I'm all right up to now ! I suppose I'd better say notliing about the horse tiU they do. I feel rather out of it among these nobs, though. I'll try and chum on to little Lady Maisie again; she may have got over her temper by this time, and she's the only one I know. {He aioinoaches her) Well, Lady Maisie, here I am, you see. I'd really no idea your aunt woiild be so friendly ! I F 66 LYRE AND LANCET say, you know, you don't mind spealcing to a fellow, do you ? I've no one else I can go to — and — and it's a bit strange at first, you know ! LadTj Maisie {colouring with oninglcd apprehension, vexation, and pity). If I can be of any help to you, Mr. Spurrell ! SpurrcU. Well, if you'd only tell me what I ought to do ! Lady Maisie. Surely that's very simple ; do nothing ; just take everything quietly as it comes, and you cant make any mistakes. Spurrell {anxiously). And you don't think any- body '11 see anything out of the way in my being here like this ? Lady Maisie {to herself). I'm only too afraid they will ! {Aloud. ) You really must have a little seK- confidence. Just remember that no one here could produce anything a millionth part as splendid as your Andromeda ! It's too distressing to see you so aiopallingly humble ! {To herself.) There's Captain Thicknesse over there — he "might come and rescue me ; but he doesn't seem to care to ! Spurrell. Well, you do put some heart into me, Lady Maisie. I feel equal to the lot of 'em now ! Pillincr {to Miss Spelwane). Is that the poet ? Why, but I say — he's a fraud I Where's his matted IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 67 head ? He's not a bit ragged, or rusty either. And why don't he dabble ? Don't seem to know what to do with his hands quite, though, does he ? Miss Spelwane (coldly). He knows how to do some very exquisite poetry with one of them, at all events. I've been reading it, and I think it perfectly marvellous ! Pilliner. I see what it is, you're preparing to turn his matted head for him ? I warn you you'll only waste your sweetness. That pretty little Lady Maisie's annexed him. Can't you content yourself with one victim at a time ? Miss Spehvane. Don't be so utterly idiotic! (To herself.) If Maisie imagines she's to be allowed to monopolise the only man in the room worth talking to! Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he watches Lady Maisie). She is lookin' prettier than ever! For- gotten me. Used to be friendly enough once, though, till her mother warned me off. Seems to have a good deal to say to that poet fellow ; saw her colour up from here the moment he came near ; he's begun Petrarchin', hang him! I'd cross over and speak to her if I could catch her eye. Don't know, though ; what's the use ? She wouldn't thank me for interruptin'. She likes these clever chaps ; 68 LYRE AND LANCET don't signify to her if they are bounders, I suppose. 7'm not intellectual. Gad, I wish I'd gone back to Aldershot ! Lady Cantire {by the tea-taUe). "Why don't you make that woman of yours send you up decent cakes, my dear ? These are cinders. I'm afraid you let her have too much of her own way. Now, teU me — who are your party? Vivien Spelwane! Never have that girl to meet me again, I can't endure her; and that affected little ape of a Mr. Pilliner— h'm ! Do I see Captain Thicknesse ? Now, I don't object to him. Maisie and he used to be great friends. . . . Ah, how do you do, Captain Thicknesse ? Quite pleasant finding you here ; such ages since we saw anything of you ! Why haven't you been near us all this time? . . . Oh, I may have been out once or twice when you called ; but you might have tried again, mightn't you ? There, / forgive you ; you had better go and see if you can make your peace with Maisie ! Captain Thicknesse {to himself, as he obeys). Doosid odd, Lady Cantire comin' round like this. Wish she'd thought of it before. Lady Cantire {in a whisper). He's always been such a favourite of mine. They tell me his uncle, poor dear Lord Dunderhead, is so ill— felt the loss of IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 69 his only son so terribly. Of course it will make a great difference — in many ways. Captain Thickncsse {constrainedly to Lady Maisie). How do you do ? Afraid you've forgotten me. Lady Maisie. Oh no, indeed ! {Hurriedly.) You — you don't know Mr. Spurrell, I think ? {Intro- ducing them.) Captain Thickuesse, Captain Thichnesse. How are you? Been hearin' a lot about you lately. Andromeda, don't you know ; and that kind of thing. Spurrell. It's wonderful what a hit she seems to have made — not that I'm siirprised at it, either ; I always knew Lady Maisie {hastily). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, you haven't had any tea ! Do go and get some before it's taken away. [Spueeell goes. Captain Thickncsse. Been tryin' to get you to notice me ever since you came; but you were so awfully absorbed, you know ! Lady Maisie. Was I? So absorbed as all that! What with ? Captain Thichiesse. Well, it looked like it— with talkin' to your poetical friend. Lady Maisie {/lushing). He is not my friend in particular; I— I admire his poetry, of course. Captain Thichiesse {to himself). Can't even speak 70 LYRE AND LANCET of him without a change of colour. Bad sign that i (Aloud.) You always ivere keen about poetry and literature and that in tlie old days, weren't you? Used to rag me for not readin' enough. But I do now. I was readin' a book only last week. I'll tell you the name if you give me a minute to think — book everybody's readin' just now — no end of a clever book. [Miss Spelwane rushes across to Lady Maisie. Miss SiJelwanc. Maisie, dear, how are you ? You look so tired ! That's the journey, I suppose. ( Whis- pering.) Do tell me — is that really the author of Andromeda drinking tea close by ? You're a great friend of his, I know. Do be a dear, and introduce him to me ! I declare the dogs have made friends with him ah-eady. Poets have such a wonderful attraction for animals, haven't they ? [Lady Maisie has to bring Spueeell up and introduce him ; Captain Thicknesse chooses to consider himself dismissed. Miss Spehoane {with shy adoration). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I feel as if I must talk to you about Andromeda. I did so admire it ! Spurrell (to himself). Another of 'em ! They seem uncommonly sweet on " bulls " in this house ! (Aloud.) Very glad to hear you say so, I'm sure. But I'm IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 71 bound to say she's about as near perfection as anything / ever — I dare say you went over her points Miss Spelwane. Indeed, I believe none of them were lost upon me ; but my poor little praise must seem so worthless and ignorant ! Spurrell {indulgently). Oh, I wouldn't say that. I find some ladies very knowing about these things. I'm having a picture done of her. Miss Spelwane. Are you really ? Hoiu delightful ! As a frontispiece ? Spurrell. Eh ? Oh no — full length, and sideways — so as to show her legs, you know. Miss Spelwane. Her legs ? Oh, of course — with " her roseal toes cramped." I thought that such a wonderful touch ! Spurrell. They're not more cramped than they ought to be ; she never turned them in, you know ! Miss Spelwane {mystified). I didn't suppose, she did. And now tell me — if it's not an indiscreet question — when do you expect there'll be another edition ? Spurrell {to liimsclf). Another addition ! She's cadging for a pup now! {Aloud.) Oh — er — really — couldn't say. Miss Spelwane. I'm sure the first must be disposed i2 LYRE AND LANCET of by this time. I shall look out for the next so eagerly ! Spurrell {to himself). Time I " off " ed it. (Aloud.) Afraid I can't say anything definite — and, excuse me leaving you, but I think Lady Culverin is looking my way. Miss Spehvane. Oh, by all means ? (To herself) I might as well praise a pillar-post ! And after spend- ing quite half an hour reading him up, too ! I wonder if Bertie Pilliner was right ; but I shall have him all to myself at dinner. Lady Cantire. And where is Eupert ? too busy of coitrse to come and say a word ! Well, some day he may understand what a sister is — when it's too late. Ah, here's our nice unassuming young poet coming up to talk to you. Don't rejjel him, my dear! Spurrell (to himself). Better give her the chance of telling me what's wrong with the horse, I suppose. (Aloud.) Er — nice old-fashioned sort of house this, Lady Culverin. (To himself.) I'll work round to the stabling by degrees. Lady Culverin (coldly). I believe it dates from the Tudors — if that is what you mean. Lady Cantire. My dear Albinia, I quite under- stand him ; " old-fashioned " is exaetly the epithet. IGNOTUM PRO JllRIFICO 73 And I was born and brought np here, so perhaps I should know. [A footman enters, and comes up to Spukrell Tnysteriously. Footman. Will you let me have your keys, if you please, sir? Simrrcll {in some alarm). My keys ! {SiLspiciously .) Why, what do you want them for ? Lady Cantire {in a whisjjer). Isn't he deliciously unsophisticated ? Quite a child of nature ! {Aloud.) My dear Mr. Spurrell, he wants your keys to unlock your portmanteau and put out your things; you'll be able to dress for dinner all the quicker. Spurrell. Do you mean — am I to have the honour of sitting down to table with all of you ? Lady Culverin {to herself). Oh, my goodness, what will Eupert say ? {Aloud.) Why, of course, Mr. Spurrell ; how can you ask ? Spurrell {feebly). I — I didn't know, that was all. {To Footman.) Here you are, then. {To himself.) Put out my things ? — he'll find nothing to put out except a nightgown, sponge bag, and a couple of brushes ! If I'd only known I should be let in for this, I'd have brought dress-clothes. But how eould I ? I — I wonder if it would be any good telling 'em quietly how it is. I shouldn't like 'em to think I •'Mr keys! why, what do tou want them for?" IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 75 hadn't got any. {He looks at Lady Cantire and her sister-in-law, wJio are talldng in an undertone.) No, perhaps I'd better let it alone. I — I can allude to it in a joky sort of way when I come down ! 76 LYRE AND LANCET TAET VIII SUIIPRISES— AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE In the Amber Boudoir. Sir Rupert has just entered. Sir Rupert. Ha, Maisie, my dear, glad to see you ! Well, Eobesia, how are you, eh ? You're looking uncommonly well ! No idea you were here ! Sjmrrell {to himself). Sir Eupert ! He'll hoof me out of this pretty soon, I expect ! Lady Cantire {aggrieved). We have been in the house for the best part of an hour, Eupert — as you might have discovered by inquiring — but no doubt you preferred your comfort to welcoming so unim- portant a guest as your sister ! Sir Rupert {to himself). Beginning already! {Aloud.) Very sorry — got rather wet riding— had to change everything. And I knew Albinia was here. Lady Cantire {magnanimously). Well, we won't begin to quarrel the moment we meet ; and you are SUUrRISES — AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE 77 forgetting your other guest. {In an undertone?) Mr. Spurrell — tlie poet — wrote Andromeda. (Aloiid.) Mr. Spurrell, come and let me present you to my brother. Sir pMpcrt. Ah, how d'ye do ? {To himself, as he shakes hands.) What the deuce am I to say to this fellow ? {Aloud.) Glad to see you here, Mr. Spurrell — heard all about you — Andromeda, eh? Hope you'll manage' to amuse yourself while you're with us ; afraid there's not much you can do now though. Spurrell {to himself). Horse in a bad way ; time they let me see it. {Aloud.) Well, we must see, sir ; I'll do all / can. Sir Rupert. You see, the shooting's done now. Spurrell {to himself, professionally piqued). They might have waited till I'd seen the horse before they shot him ! After calling me in like this ! {Aloud.) Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Sir Eupert. I wish I could have got here earlier, I'm sure. Sir Eupert. Wish we'd asked you a month ago, if you're fond of shooting. Thought you might look down on sport, perhaps. Spurrell {to himself). Sport? Why, he's talking of Urds — not the horse! {Aloud.) Me, Sir Eupert? Not mueh! I'm as keen on a day's gunning as 78 LYRE AND LANCET any man, though I don't often get the chance now. Sir Rujiert (to himself, pleased). Come, he don't seem strong against the Game Laws ! {Aloud.) Thought you didn't look as if you sat over your desk all day! There's hunting still, of course. Don't know whether you ride ? Spurrell. Eather so, sir! Why, I was born and bred in a sporting county, and as long as my old uncle was alive, I could go down to his farm and get a run with the hounds now and again. Sir Rupert (dclir/hted). Capital ! Well, our next meet is on Tuesday — best part of the country ; nearly all grass, and nice clean post and rails. You must stay over for it. Got a mare that will carry your weight perfectly, and I think I can promise you a run — eh, what do you say ? Spurrell {to himself, in surprise). He is a chummy old cock ! I'll wire old Spavin that I'm detained on biz ; and I'll tell 'em to send my riding-breeches and dress-clothes down! .{Aloud.) It's uncommonly kind of you, sir, and I think I can manage to stop on a bit. Lady Culverin {to herself). Eupert must be out of his senses ! It's bad enough to have him here till Monday! (Aloud.) We mustn't forget, Eupert. suRrnisES — agreeable and otherwise 79 how valuable ]\Ir. Spiirrell's time is ; it would be too selfish of us to detain him here a day longer than Lady Cantirc. My dear, Mr. Spurrell has already said he can manage it; so we may all enjoy his society with a clear conscience, (Lady Culveein conceals her sentiments ivith difficulty.) And now, Albinia, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room and rest a little, as I'm rather overdone, and you have all these tiresome people coming to dinner to-night. [She rises and leaves the room ; the other ladies follow her cxamjyle. Lady Cidverin. Eupert, I'm going up now with Kohesia. You know where we've put Mr. Spurrell, don't you ? The Verney Chamber. \_Shc goes out. Sir Eupert. Take you up now, if you like, Mr. SpurreU — it's only just seven, though. Suppose you don't take an hour to dress, eh ? Spurrell. Oh dear no, sir, nothing like it ! (To himself.) Won't take me two minutes as I am now ! I'd better tell him — I can say my bag hasn't come. I don't believe it has, and, anyway, it's a good excuse. {Aloud.) The — the fact is. Sir Eupert, I'm afraid that my luggage has been unfortunately left behind. so LYRE AND LANCET Sir Eiqrrf. No luggage, ch ? Well, well, it's of no consequence. But I'll ask about it— I dare say it's all right. [/^c goes out Captain Thichicssc {to SruiuiELL). Sure to have turned up, you know — man will have seen that. Shouldn't altogether oliject to a glass of sherry and bitters before dinner. Don't know how you feel- suppose you've a soul above sherry and bitters, though ? Spurrell. Not at this moment. But I'd soon put my soul above a sherry and bitters if I got a chance ! Captain ThicJcncsse {after reflection). I say, you know, that's rather smart, eh ? {To liimself.) Aw'fly clever sort of chap, this, but not stuck up — not half a bad sort, if he is a bit of a bounder. {Aloud.) Any- thin' in the evenin' paper ? Don't get 'em down here. Spurrell. Nothing much. I see there's an objec- tion to Monkey-tricks. Captain Thiehicsse {startled). No, by Jove ! Hope they'll overrule it — make a lot of difference to me if they don't. Spurrell. Don't fancy there's much in it. Your money's safe enough, I expect. Have you any par- ticular fancy for the Grand National? I know something that's safe to win, bar accidents — a dead cert, sir! Got the tip straight from the stable. 'I SAT, TOD KNOW, that's HATHER SMAHT, EH?' G 82 LYEE AND LANCET You just take my advice, and pile all you can on Jumping Joan. Captain Thicknesse {later, to himself, after a long and liighly interesting conversation). Thunderin' clever chap — never knew poets were such clever chaps. Might be a " bookie," by Gad ! No wonder Maisie thinks such a lot of him ! \^He sighs. Sir Rupert {returning). Now, Mr. Spurrell, if you'll come upstairs with me, I'll show you your quarters. By the way, I've made inquiries about your luggage, and I think you'll find it's all right. {As he leads the way up the staircase.) Rather awkward for you if you'd had to come down to dinner just as you are, eh ? Spurrell {to himself). Oh, lor, my beastly bag has come after all! Now they'll hioiv I didn't bring a dress suit. What an owl I was to tell him ! {Aloud, feebly.) Oh — er — very awkward indeed, Sir Eupert ! Sir Rupert {stopping at a hcdroom door). Verney Chamber — here you are. Ah, my wife forgot to have your name put on the door — better do it now, eh ? {Re writes it on the card in the door-plate.) There — well, hope you'll find it all comfortable — we dine at eight, you know. You've plenty of time for all you've got to do ! SUKPRISES— AGREEABLE AND OTHEIIWISE 83 Spui^rdl (to himself). If I only knew what to do ! I shall never have the cheek to come down as I am ! [i/e enters the Verncy Chamber dejectedly. hi an Upper Corridor in the East Wing. Steward's Room Boy (to Undersiiell). This is your room, sir — you'll find a fire lit and all. Undcrshell {scathingly). A fire ? For me ! I scarcely expected such an indulgence. You are sure there's no mistake ? Boy. This is the room I was told, sir. You'll find candles on the mantelpiece, and matches. Undcrshell. Every luxury indeed ! I am pampered — pampered ! Boy. Yes, sir. And I was to say as supper's at ar-past nine, but Mrs. Pomfret would be 'appy to see you in the Pugs' Parlour whenever you pleased to come down and set there. Undcrshell. The Pugs' Parlour ? Boy. What we call the 'ousekeeper's room, among ourselves, sir. Undcrshell. Mrs. Pomfret does me too much honour. And shall I have the satisfaction of seeing your intelligent countenance at the festive board, my lad ? Boy {giggling). On'y to wait, sir. I don't set down to meals along with the upper servants, sir ! 84 LYRE AND LANCET Undershell. And I — a mere man of genins— c?o / These distinctions must strike you as most arbi- trary; but restrain any natural envy, my young friend. I assure you I am not puffed up by this promotion ! Bor/. No, sir. {To himself, as he rjoes out.) 1 believe he's a bit dotty, I do. I don't understand a word he's been a-talkiug of ! Undershell (alone, surveying the surroundings). A cockloft, with a painted iron bedstead, a smoky chimney, no bell, and a text over the mantelpiece ! Thank Heaven, that fellow Drysdale can't see me here ! But I will not sleep in this place, my pride will only just bear the strain of staying to supper — no more. And I'm hanged if I go down to the housekeeper's room till hunger drives me. It's not eight yet — how shall I pass the time ? Ha, I see they've favoured me with pen and ink. I will invoke the Muse. Indignation should make verses, as it did for Juvenal ; and he was never set down to sup with slaves ! [He writes. In the Verney Chamber. Spurrell (to himself). My word, what a room! Carpet hung aU over the walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with blazing logs, — if this is SURPRISES — AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE 85 how they do a vet here, what price the other fellows' rooms? And to think I shall have to do without dinner, just when I was getting on with 'em all so swimmingly ! I must. I can't, for the credit of the profession — to say nothing of the firm — turn up in a monkey jacket and tweed bags, and that's all I've got except a nightgown ! . . . It's all very well for Lady Maisie to say, " Take everything as it comes," but if she was in my fix! . . . -And it isn't as if I hadn't got dress things either. If only I'd brought 'em down, I'd have marched in to dinner as cool as a {he lights a imir of candles.) Hullo ! What's that on the bed ? {He approaches it.) Shirt ! white tie ! socks ! coat, waistcoat, trousers — they arc dress clothes ! . . . And here's a pair of brushes on the table ! I'll swear they're not mine — there's a mono- gram on them — " U.G." What does it all mean ? Why, of course ! regular old trump, Sir Eupert, and naturally he wants me to do him credit. He saw how it was, and he's gone and rigged me out ! In a house like this, they're ready for emergencies — keep all sizes in stock, I dare say. ... It isn't " U.G." on the brushes— it's " G.U."— " Guest's Use." Well, this is what I call doing the thing in style ! Cinderella's nothing to it ! Only hope they're a decent fit. {Later, as he dresses.) Come, the shirt's 86 LYRE AND LANCET all right ; trousers a trifle short — but they'll let down ; waistcoat — whew, must undo the buckle — hang it, it is undone ! I feel like a hooped barrel in it ! Now the coat — easy does it. Well, it's on ; but I shall have to be peeled like a walnut to get it off again. . . . Shoes ? ah, here they are — pair of pumps. Phew — must have come from the Torture Exhibition in Leicester Square ; glass slippers nothing to 'em ! But they'll have to do at a pinch ; and they do pinch like blazes ! Ha, ha, that's good ! I must tell that to the Captain. {He looks at himself in a mirror.) Well, I can't say they're up to mine for cut and general style ; but they're passable. And now I'll go down to the drawing-room and get on terms with all the smarties ! [//c saunters out with restored complacency. ( S7 ) PART IX THE MAUVAIS QUART d'HEUEE In the Chinese Drawing -room at Wyvcrn. Time — 7.50. Lady Oulveeix is alone, glancing over a written list. Lady Cantire (entering). Down already, Albinia ? I thought if I made haste I should get a quiet chat with you before anybody else came in. What is that paper ? Oh, the list of couples for Rupert, May I see ? (As Lady Culverix surrenders it.) My dear, you're not going to inflict that mincing little Pilliner boy on poor Maisie ! That really ivont do. At least let her have somebody she used to. Why not Captain Thicknesse ? He's an old friend, and she's not seen him for months. I must alter that, if you've no objection. [She does.) And then you've given my poor poet to that Spelwane girl ! Now, why ? 88 LYRE AND LANCET Lady Cafvcriji. I thought she wouldn't mind put- ting up with him just for one evening. Lad// Cantire. Wouldn't mind ! Putting up with him ! And is that how you speak of a celebrity when you are so fortunate as to have one to enter- tain ? Really, Albinia ! Lady Cul'vcrin. But, my dear Eohesia, you must allow that, whatever his talents may be, he is not — well, not quite one of Us. Now, is he ? Lady Cantire (hlandly). My dear, I never heard he had any connection with the manufacture of chemical manures, in which your worthy papa so greatly distinguished himself — if that is what you mean. Lady Cidvcrin {with some increase of colour). That is not what I meant, Eohesia — as you know perfectly well. And I do say that this Mr. Spurrell's manner is most objectionable ; when he's not obsequious, he's horribly familiar ! Ljady Cantire (sharply). I have not' observed it. He strikes me as well enough — for that class of person. And it is intellect, soul, all that kind of thing that / value. I look helow the surface, and I find a great deal that is very original and charming in this young man. And surely, my dear, if I find myself able to associate with him, you need not be so THE MAUVAIS QUART D'lIEURE 89 fastidious ! I consider him my iwot&je, and I won't have him slighted. He is far too good for Vivien Spelwane ! Lady Cuherin {luith just a susincion of malice). Perhaps, Kohesia, you would like him to take you in? Lady Cantire. That, of course, is quite out of the question. I see you have given me the Bishop — he's a poor, dry stick of a man — never forgets he was the Headmaster of Swisham — but he's always glad to meet me. I freshen him up so. Lady Culvcrin. I really don't know w^hom I can give Mr. Spurrell. There's Ehoda Cokayne, but she's not poetical, and she'll get on much better with Archie Bearpark. Oh, I forgot Mrs. Brooke- Chatteris — she's sure to talk, at all events. Lady Cantire (as she corrects the list). A lively, agreeable woman — she'll amuse him. F^"" you can give Eupert the list. [Sir Eupert and various members of the house-party appear one hy one; Lord and Lady Lullington, the Bishop of BiECHESTER and Mrs. Eodney, Mr. and Mrs. Eakwaker, and Mr. Shoethoen are announced at intervals ; salutations, recog- nitions, and commonplaces are exchanged. 00 LYRE AND LANCET Lachj Cantirc {later — to tlic Bishop, {jenicdly). Ah, my dear Bishop, you and I haven't met since we had our great battle about — now, was it the necessity of throwing open the Public Schools to the lower classes — for whom of course they were originally intended — ov was it the failure of the Church to reach the working man ? I really forget. The Bishop {who has a holy horror of the Countess). I — ah — fear I cannot charge my memory so precisely, my dear Lady Cantire. We — ah — differ unfor- tunately on so many subjects. I trust, however, we may — ah — agree to suspend hostilities on this occasion ? Lady Cantire (with even more honJiomie). Don't be too sure of that, Bishop. I've several crows to pluck with you, and we are to go in to dinner together, you know ! The Bishop. Indeed? I had no conception that such a pleasure was in store for me ! {To him'^elf.) This must be the penance for breaking my rule of never dining out on Saturday ! Severe — but not unmerited ! Lady Cantire. I wonder, Bishop, if you have seen this wonderful volume of poetry that every one is talking about — Androincda ? TJie Bishop {conscientiously). I chanced only this THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE 91 morning, by way of momentary relaxation, to take up a journal containing a notice of that work, with copious extracts. The impression left on my mind was — ah — unfavourable ; a certain talent, no doubt, some felicity of expression, but a noticeable lack of the — ah — reticence, the discipline, the — the scholarly touch which a training at one of our great Public Schools (I forbear to particularise), and at a University, can alone impart. I was also pained to observe a crude discontent with the existing Social System — a system which, if not absolutely perfect, cannot be upset or even modified without the gravest danger. But I was still more distressed to note in several passages a decided taint of the morbid sensuousness which renders so much of our modern literature sickly and unwholesome. Lady Cantire. All prejudice, my dear Bishop ; why, you haven't even read the book ! However, the author is staying here now, and I feel con- vinced that if you only knew him, you'd alter your opinion. Such an unassuming, inoffensive creature ! There, he's just come in. Ill call him over here. . , . Goodness, why does he shuffle along in that way ! Spurrell {meeting Sir Eupert). Hope I've kept nobody waiting for me, Sir Eupert. {Confidcntiallij.) 92 LYRE AND LANCET I'd rather a job to get these things on ; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering ! [He passes on, leaving his host speechless. Lady Cantire. That's right, Mr. Spurrell. Come here, and let me present you to the Bishop of Birchester. The Bishop has just been telling me he considers your Andromeda sickly, or unhealthy, or something. I'm sure you'll be able to convince him it's nothing of the sort. \_She leaves him with the Bishop, who is visibly annoyed. Spurrell (to himself, overaived). Oh, Lor ! Wish I knew the right way to talk to a Bishop. Can't call him nothing — so doosid familiar. (Aloud.) Andro- meda sickly, your — (tentatively) — your Eight Eever- ence ? Not a bit of it — sound as a roach ! The Bishop. If I had thought my — ah — criticisms were to be repeated — I might say misrepresented, as the Countess has thought proper to do, Mr. Spurrell, I should not have ventured to make them. At the same time, you must be conscious yourself, I think, of certain blemishes which would justify the terms I employed. Spurrell. 1 never saw any in Andromeda myself, your — your Holiness. You're the first to find a fault in her. I don't say there mayn't be something I,t mm (M^ i . "I'd rather a job to get these things on; but they're really a ■wonderful fit, considering ! " 94 ' LYRE AND LANCET dicky about the setting and the turn of the tail, but that's a trifle. Tlie Bishop. I did not refer to the setting of the tale, and the portions I object to are scarcely trifles. But pardon me if I prefer to end a discussion that can hardly be other than unprofitable. (To Jiimself, as he turns on his heel.) A most arrogant, self- satisfied, and conceited young man — a truly lament- able product of this half-educated age ! Spurrell {to himself). Well, he may be a dab at dogmas — he don't know much about dogs. Drummy's got a constitution worth a dozen of his ! Lady Culverin {approaching him). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, liord Lullington is most anxious to know you. If you will come with me. {To herself, as she leads him up to Lord Lullington.) I do wish Eohesia wouldn't force me to do this sort of thing ! [She piresents hi^n. Lord Lullington {to himself). I suppose I ought to know all about his novel, or whatever it is he's done. {Aloud, with courtliness.) Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Spurrell ; you've — ah — delighted the world by your Andromeda. When are we to look for your next production ? Soon, I hope. Spurrell {to himself). He's after a pup now! THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEUKE 95 Never met such a doggy lot in my life ! (Aloud.) Er — well, my lord, I've promised so many as it is, that I hardly see my way to Lm'd Ltdlington (paternally). Take my advice, my dear young man, leave yourself as free as possible. Expect you to give us your best, you know. [//g turns to continue a conversation. Spurrell (to himself). Give it ! He won't get it under a five-pound note, I can tell him. (He maJces his tvay to Miss Spelwane.) I say, what do you think the old Bishop's been up to ? I'itching 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 syn^oathy.) 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 Spehvane. 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. / feel But if I told you, I might make you too conceited! 96 LYRE AND LANCET Sjmrrcll (gracefully). Oh, it's not so easily done as all that! [Sir EuPEET approaches with Mr. Shorthorn. Sir Uupert. 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. \JIc marches Spurrell off. Mr. Shorthorn {to Miss Spelwane). Good thing get- ting this rain at last ; a little more of this dry weather and we should have had no grass to speak of ! Miss Spielwane {who has 7iot quite recovered from her disappoi^itment). And now you will have some grass to speak of ? Hoio fortunate ! Sinirrell {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. / 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 — hut ! [She gives a little shrug. Captain Thichncsse {immediately hehind her, to himself). Gad, that's pleasant! I knew I'd better THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEUEE 97 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 liope he didn't hear what I said to that wretch ! Captain ThicJcnesse. 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 / shan't explain. \Tliey take their place in the proeession to the dining-hall. H 98 LYRE AND LANCET PAET X BOEKOWED PLUMES In Undershell's Bedroom in the East Wing at Wyvern. Time — About 9 p.m. The Stciuard's Eoo7n Boy (knocldng and entering'). Brought you up some 'ot water^ sir, case you'd like to clean up afore supper. Undershell. I presume evening dress is not indis- pensable 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 'card nothink of no porkmanteau, sir! Undershell. 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. [T/tc Boy retires, impressed. An interval. BORROWED PLUMES 99 Boy {i'cai)peariny). 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 porkman- teau with a white star was took up to the Verney Chamber, which Thomas unpacked it hisself. Underslidl. Then tell Thomas, with my compli- ments, 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 weariii' of 'em now, sir. Underslidl {indignant). But they're mine ! Con- found 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. Undershell. I don't care who takes it so long as it is taken. "Tell Thomas it's Ms 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 portman- teau. Get that note delivered somehow, and I'll give you half-a-crown. {To liimself, as the Boy departs, 100 LYRE AND LANCET much against Ids 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 privi- leged ! In the Dining-hall. The table is oval ; Spurrell is placed between Lady Ehoda Cokayne and Mrs. Beooke-Chatteris. 3Irs. Chatteris {encouragingly, after they are seated). Now, I shall expect you to be very brilliant and entertaining, /'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 BORROWED PLUMES 101 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 recog- nised 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 / 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 yoit. Mrs. Chatteris {only partially pleased). I wonder if 102 LYRE AND LANCET 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 ? Spurrdl {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. Mrs. Chatteris {to herself). It's quite amusing how jealous these poets are of one another ! {Aloud.) Is it true they get a butt of sherry given them for it ? Spurrell. I've heard of winners getting a bottle or two of champagne in a bucket — not sherry. But a little stimulant won't hurt a crack when he comes in, provided it's not given him too soon ; wait till he's got his wind and done blowing, you know. Mrs. Chatteris. I'm taking that in. I know it's very witty and satirical, and I dare say I shall under- stand it in time. Spurrell. Oh, it doesn't matter much if you don't. ( To himself) Pleasant kind of woman— but a perfect fool to talk to ! Mrs. Chatteris {to herself). I've always heard that clever writers are rather stupid when you meet them — it's quite true. Captain Thicknesse {to himself). I should like her BORROWED PLUMES 103 to see that I've got some imagination in me, though she does think me such an ass. {Aloud, to Lady Maisie.) Jolly old hall this is, with the banners, and the gallery, and that — makes you fancy some of those old mediiEval Johnnies in armour — knights, you know — comin' clankin' in and turnin' us all out. Lady Maisie {to herself). I do trust Mr. Spurrell isn't saying something too dreadful. I'm sure I heard my name just now. {Aloud, ahsently, to Captain Thicknesse.) No, did you really? How amusing it must have been ! Ca;ptain Thicknesse {aggrieved). If you'd done me the honour of payin' any attention to what I was sayin', you'd have found out it wasn't amusin'. Lady Maisie {starting). Oh, wasn't it? I'm so sorry I missed it. I — I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. Do tell me again ! Captain Thicknesse {still hurt). No, I won't inflict it on you — not worth repeatin'. And I should only be takin' off your attention from a fellow that does know how to talk. Lady Maisie {with a guiltiness vjhich she tries to carry off under dignity). I don't think I understand what you mean. Cajptain Thicknesse. Well, I couldn't help hearin' 104 I.YRE AND LANCET what you said to your poet-friend before we went in about having to put up with partners ; and it isn't what you may call flattering to a feUow's feelin's, being put up with. Lady Maisie (hotly). It — it was not intended for you. You entirely misunderstood ! Captain Thichiesse. Dare say I'm very dense ; but, even to my comprehension, it's plain enough that the reason why you weren't listenin' to me just now was that the poet had the luck to say somethin' that you found more interesting. Zady Maisie. You are quite wrong — it's too absurd; I never even met Mr. Spurrell in my life tni this afternoon. If you really must know, I heard him mention my name, and — and I wondered, naturally, what he could possibly be saying. Captain ThicJcnesse. Somethin' very charmin', and poetical, and complimentary, I'm sure, and I'm makin' you lose it all. Apologise — shan't happen again. Lady Maisie. Please be sensible, and let us talk of something else. Are you staying here long ? Captain Thichiesse. You will be gratified to hear I leave for Aldershot to-morrow. Meant to have gone to-day. Sorry I didn't now. Lady Maisie. I think it was a thousand pities you BORROWED PLUMES 105 didn't, as you seem to have stayed on purpose to be as stupid and unkind as you possibly can. \_She turns to her other neighhour, Lord LuL- LINGTON. Mrs. Chatteris {to Captain Thicknesse, who is on her other side). Oh, Captain Thicknesse, what do you think Mr. Spurrell has just told me? You re- member those lines to Lady Grisoline that Mr. Pilliner made such fun of this morning ? Well, they were meant for Lady Maisie! They're quite old friends, it seems. So romantic ! Wouldn't you like to know how they came to meet ? Captain Thicknesse. Can't say I'm particularly curious — no affair of mine, don't you know. (To himself.) And she told me they'd never met before ! Sooner I get back the better. Only in the way here. Lad]/ Maisie {turning to him). Well, are you as determined to be as disagreeable as ever ? Oh yes, I see you are ! Captain Thicknesse. I'm hurt, that's what it is, and I'm not clever at hiding my feelin's. Fact is, I've just been told somethin' that — well, it's no business of mine, only you might have been a little more frank with an old friend, instead of leavin' it to come through somebody else. These things always come out, you know. 106 LYRE AND LANCET Lady Maisie {to herself). That wretch has been talking ! I knew he would ! {Aloud.) I — I know I've been very fooUsh. If I was to tell you some time Captain Thichiesse {hastily). Oh, no reason why you should tell me anything. Assure you, I — I'm not curious. Lady Maisie. In that case I shall certainly not trouble you. {To herself) He may think just what he pleases, / don't care. But, oh, if Mr. Spurrell dares to speak to me after this, I shaU astonish him ! Lady Rhoda {to Spueeell). I say — I am in a funk. Only just heard who I'm next to. I always do feel such a perfect fool when I've got to talk to a famous person — and you're frightfully famous, aren't you ? Spurrell {modestly). Oh, I don't know — I suppose I am, in a sort of way, through Andromeda. Seem to think so here, anyhow. Lady Bhoda. Well, I'd better tell you at once, I'm no good at poetry — can't make head or tail of it, some'ow. It does seem to me such — well, such footle. Awfly rude of me sayin' things like that ! Spurrell. Is it ? I'm just the same — wouldn't give a penny a yard for poetry, myself! Lady Bhoda. You wouldn't ? I am glad. Such a let-off for me ! I was afraid you'd want to talk of \J^ 108 LYRE AND LANCET nothin' else, and the only things I can really talk about are horses and dogs, and that kind of thing. Spurrell. That's all right, then. All I don't know about dogs and horses you could put in a homoeo- pathic globule — and then it would rattle ! Ladij Ehoda. Then you're just the man. Look here, I've an Airedale at home, and he's losin' all his coat and V^^^^V converse with animation. Spurrell (later — to himself). I am getting on. I always knew I was made for Society. If only this coat was easier under the arms ! Tlwmas (behind him — in a discreet whisker). Beg your pardon, sir, but I was requested to 'and you this note, and wait for an answer. Spurrell (opening it, and reading). "Mr. Galfrid Undershell thinks that the gentleman who is occupy- ing the Verney Chamber has, doubtless by inadver- tence, put on Mr. Undershell's evening clothes. As he requires them immediately, he will be obliged by an early appointment being made, with a view to their return." (To himself.) Oh, Lor! Then it ■wasn't Sir Eupert, after all! Just when I was beginning to enjoy my evening, too. What on earth am I to say to this chap ? I ca7it take 'em all off here ! [He sits staring at the paper in blank dismay. ( 109 ) PART XI TIME AND THE HOUR In the Dining-liall. Spurrell {to himself, uncomfortably conscious of the expectant Thomas in his rear). Must write something to this beggar, I suppose ; it'll keep him quiet. {To Mrs. Bkooke-Chatteris.) I — I just want to write a line or two. Could you oblige me with a lead pencil ? Mrs. Chatteris. You are really going to write ! At a dinner-party, of all places ! Now how delightfully original and unconventional of you ! I promise not to interrupt till the inspiration is over. Only, really, I'm afraid I don't carry lead pencils about with me — so bad for one's frocks, you know ! Thomas {in his ear). I can lend you a pencil, sir, if you require one. [//c 'provides him with a very minute stump. 110 LYRE AND LANCET Spurrcll {reading ivhat he haa ivritkii on the lack of Undekshell's missive). "Will be in my room (Verney Chamber) as soon after ten as possible. " J. Spuerell." {Repasses the paper to Thomas surreptitiousli/.) There, take him that. [Thomas retires. Arehie {to himself.) The calm cheek of these writin' chaps! I saw him takin' notes under the table ! Lady Ehoda ought to know the sort of fellow he is— and she shall! {To Lady Ehoda, in an aggrieved undertone.) I should advise you to be jolly careful what you say to your other neighbour ; he's takin' it all down. I just caught him writin'. He'll be bringing out a satire, or whatever he calls it, on us all by and bye — you see if he won't ! Lady Ehoda. What an ill-natured boy you are 1 Just because he can write, and you can't. And I don't believe he's doing any thin' of the sort. I'll ask him — / don't care ! {Aloud, to Spureell.) I say, I know I'm awfully inquisitive — but I do want to know so — you've just been writin' notes or some- thin', haven't you ? Mr. Bearpark declares you're goin' to take them aU off here — you're not really, are you ? Spurrell {to himself). That sulky young chap has spotted it! {Aloud, stammering.) I — take every- TIME AND THE HOUR 111 thing off ? Here ! I — I assure you I should never even tliinh of doing anything so indelicate ! Lady Rhoda. I was sure that was what you'd say ! But still {with reviving uneasiness), I suppose you have made use of things that happened just to fit your purpose, haven't yoii ? Spun^ell {-penitently). All I can say is, that — if I have — you won't catch me doing it again! And other people's things don't fit. I'd much rather have my own. Lady Bhoda {relieved). Of course ! But I'm glad you told me. {To Akchie, in an undertone.) I asked him — and, as usual, you were utterly wrong. So you'll please not to be a pig ! Archie {jealously). And you're goin' to go on talkin' to him all through dinner ? Pleasant for me — when I took you down ! Lady Bhoda. You want to be taken down yourself, I think. And I mean to talk to him if I choose. You can talk to Lady Culverin — she likes boys ! {Turning to Spukeell.) I was goin' to ask you — ought a schipperke to have meat ? IViine won't touch puppy biscuits. [Spueeell enlightens her on this point ; Aechie glowers. Lady Cantire {perceiving that the Bishop is showing 112 LYIIE AND LANCET d/ Maisie {to herself). He didn't write Andro- meda! Then he hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a hrute to the poor dear man! Hotv lucky I said nothing about it to Gerald ! Captain Thichnesse {to himself). So he ainJt the bard! . . . Now I see why Maisie's been behavin' so oddly all the eveuin' ; she spotted him, and didn't THE LAST STRAW 185 like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, thoiigli. Well, I shall stay out my leave now ! Lady Bhoda {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 miist be a poet of sorts. Mrs. Broohe-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 j^ondcrs. 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 awk- ward, 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 Eohesia have known this ? What possible object could she have had in And oh, dear, how disgusted Eupert will be ! Sir Bvujpert {to himself). Seems a decent young 186 LYRE AND LANCET chap enough ! Too bad of Eohesia 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 bave 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. Spur- rell, we couldn't think of troubling you any more under the circumstances ! (In desperation.) Vivien, my dear, won't you siv^ something ? [^The company echo the request with unusual eagerness. Spurrell (to himself, during Miss Spelwane's song). THE LAST STRAW 187 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 Und- ing 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 cant go on like this ! (Miss Spelwane leaves the piano ; cveryhochj plunges feverishly into conversa- tion on the first suhject — other than poetry or dogs — that presc7its 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 Eupert, 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 188 LYRE AND LANCET 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 car.) You iveo^e, weren't you ? Ladij Maisie (hastily). Yes, yes, Mr. Spurrell. Of course ! It's all perfecthj 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. Ladij Culverin. To be sure — any friend of my sister-in-law's Ladj/ Cantirc. 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 ! THE LAST STRAW 189 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 presenta- tion copy of your verses. Sjmrrell. 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, Eohesia, it was your mistake; but as we are indebted to it for the pleasure of making Mr. SpurrelFs acquaintance Lady Cantire. I am not in the habit of making mistakes, Eupert. I don't know what you and Albinia and Maisie may know that I am in ignor- ance 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 Eupert. My dear Eohesia, I don't know and I don't care ! Lady Cantire. There you are wrong, Eupert, 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 190 LYRE AND LANCET have noticed tliey 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 / 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 rig- marole 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. THE LAST STRAW 191 By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if your ladyship would like to see it. [ZTe hands it to Lady Culveein. Lady Cuherin. "Mr. Undershell!" . . . Eohesia, that is Clarion Blair! I knew it was something ending in " ell." (To Spuerell.) And you say Mr. Undershell is here — in this house ? Spurrell. Not now. He's gone by this time. The Others {in dismay). Gone ! S]purrell. 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. SpurreU 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 Eupert ; he'll tell you it's all right. Lady Cantire. Then perhaps you wiU be good enough to enKghten us, Eupert ? Sir Rupert {driven into a corner). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to say that I'm just as much iu 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 ■•ALBixrA, I thi:;k i ^-ill go to bed,' THE LAST STRAW 193 and have a look at him. I'm here instead of Mr. Spavin — now do you understand, Sir Eupert ? I'm the vet. \_Supprcssed sensation. Sir Rupert {to liimself). This is devilish awkward ! Don't quite know what to do. {Aloud.) To — to be sure you are ! Of course ! That's it, Eohesia ! 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 amicahly on the shoulder. Lady Cantire {in a sepulchral tone). Albinia, I think I will go to bed. [She withdraws. Sir Rupert {to himself). There'll be no harm in letting him stay, now he is here. If Eohesia 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 com- municate to Sir Eupert in private.) I wonder what the dooce is up now ! [Partial reaction in company. 194 LYRE AXD LANCET PAET XIX UNEAKNED INCREMENT Sir Rupert (to Tkedwell). Well, what is it ? Tredtvell {in an undertone). With reference to the party, Sir Eupert, as represents himself to have come down to see the 'orse, I Sir Rupert (aloud). You mean Mr. Spurrell ? It's all right. Mr. Spiirrell will see the horse to-morrow. (Tredwell disguises his utter hewilderment.) By the way, we expected a Mr. What did you say the name was, my dear ? . . . XJndershell ? To be sure, a Mr. Undershell, to have been here in time for dinner. Do you know why he has been unable to come before this ? Tredwell {to himself). Do I know? Oh, Lor! {Aloud.) I — I believe he have arrived. Sir Eupert. Sir Rupert. So I understand from Mr. Spurrell. Is he here still ? Tredwell. He is, Sir Eupert. I — I considered it my dooty not to allow him to leave the house, not feeling ^ UNEARNED INCREMENT 195 Sir RuiJert. Quite right, Tredwell. I should have been most seriously annoyed if I had found that a guest we were all anxiously expecting had left the Court, owing to some fancied Where is he now ? Tredwell {faintly). In — in the Verney Chamber. Leastways Sir Rupert. Ah. {He glances at Spuerell.) Then where ? But that can be arranged. Go up and explain to Mr. Undershell that we have only this moment heard of his arrival ; say we understand that he has been obliged to come by a later train, and that we shall be delighted to see him, just as he is. Spurrell {to himself). He was worth looking at just as he was, when / saw him ! Pilliner {to himself). By a later train ? Then, how the deuce did his clothes ? Oh, well, however it was, it don't concern me. Tredivell. Very good. Sir Eupert. {To himself, as he departs.) If I'm not precious careful over this job, it may cost me my situation ! Spurrell. Sir Eupert, I've been thinking that, after what's occurred, it would probably be more satis- factory to all parties if I shifted my quarters, and — took my meals in the housekeeper's room. [Lady Maisie and Lady Ehoda utter in- articulate protests. 196 T.YRE AND LANCET Si7' Rupert. My dear sir, not on any account — couldn't /tear of it ! My wife, I'm sure, will say the same. Lady Culverin {with an effort). I hope Mr. Spurrell will continue to be oiu" guest precisely as before — that is, if he will forgive us for putting him into another room. Spurrell {to himself). It's no use ; I can*t get rid of 'em ; they stick to me like a lot of blooming burrs ! {Aloud, in despair.) Your ladyship is very good, but Well, the fact is, I've only just found out that a young lady I've long been deeply attached to is in this very house. She's a Miss Emma PhilUp- son — maid, so I understand, to Lady Maisie — and, without for one moment wishing to draw any com- parisons, or to seem ungrateful for all the friendli- ness I've received, I really and truly would feel my- self more comfortable in a circle where I could enjoy rather more of my Emma's society than I can here ! Sir Rupert {immensely relieved). Perfectly natural ! and — hum — sorry as we are to lose you, Mr. Spur- rell, we — ah — mustn't be inconsiderate enough to keep you here a moment longer. I've no doubt you will find the young lady in the housekeeper's room — any one will tell you where it is. . . . Good night to you, then ; and, remember, we shall expect to see you in the field on Tuesday. ' I'm so VKKT glad — about EMMA, TOC KNOW. 198 LYEE AND LANCET Lady Maisie. Good night, Mr. Spurrell, and— and I'm so very glad— about Emma, you know. I hope you will both be very happy. \^She shakes hands warmly. Lady Rhoda. So do I. And mind you don't forget about that liniment, you know. Ca.j^tain Thicknesse (to himself). Maisie don't care a hang ! And I was ass enough to fancy But there, that's all over now ! In the Verney Chamhcr. Undcrshell {in the dressing-room, to himself). I wonder how long I've been locked up here— it seems hours! I almost hope they've forgotten me alto- gether. . . . Some one has come in. . . . If it should be Sir Eupert ! ! Great heavens, what a situation to be found in by one's host ! . , . Perhaps it's only that fellow Spurrell; if so, there's a chance. {The door is unlocked hy Tredwell, who has lighted the candles on the dressing table.) It's the butler ao-ain. WeU, I shall soon know the worst ! (He steps out, Uinking, with as much dignity as possible.) Perhaps you wiU kindly inform me why I have been subjected to this indignity ? Tredwell {in perturbation). I think, Mr. UndersheU, sir, in common fairness, you'll admit as you've mainly UNEARNED INCREMENT 199 yourself to thank for any mistakes that have occurred ; for which I 'asten to express my pussonal regret. Undershell. So long as you realise that you have made a mistake, I am willing to overlook it, on condition that you help me to get away from this place without your master and mistress's knowledge. Tredwell. It's too late, sir. They know you're 'ere ! Undershell. They know ! Then there's no time to be lost. I must leave this moment ! Tredwell. No, sir, excuse me ; but you can't hardly do that now. I was to say that Sir Eupert and the ladies would be glad to see you in the droring-room himmediate. Undershell. Man alive ! do you imagine anything would induce me to meet them now, after the humili- ations I have been compelled to suffer under this roof ? Tredwell. If you would prefer anything that has taken place in the room, sir, or in the stables to be 'ushed up Undershell. Prefer it ! If it were only possible ! But they know — they knotu ! What's the use of talking like that ? Tredwell {to himself). I know where I am now! {Aloud.) They know nothink up to the present, Mr. Undershell, nor yet I see no occasion why they should — leastwise from any of Us. 200 LYRE AND LANCET Undershell. But they know I'm here ; how am 1 to account for all the time ? Trcdivell. Excuse me, sir. I thought of that, and it occurred to me as it mij^ht be more agreeable to your feelings, sir, if I conveyed an impression that you had only just arrived — 'aving missed your train, sir. Undershell (overjoyed). How am I to thank you ? that was really most discreet of you — most con- siderate ! Tredwell. I am truly rejoiced to hear you say so, sir. And I'll take care nothing leaks out. And if you'll be kind enough to follow me to the droring- room, the ladies are waiting to see you, Undershell (to himself). I may actually meet Lady Maisie Mull after all ! (A loud, recollecting his con- dition.) But I can't go down like this. I'm in such a horrible mess ! Tredwell. I reelly don't perceive it, sir ; except a little white on your coat-collar behind. Allow me — there it's off now. (He gives him a hand-glass ) If you'd like to see for yourself. Undershell (to himself as he looks). A slight pallor, that's all. I am more presentable than I could have hoped. (Aloud.) Have the kindness to take me to Lady Culverin at once. UNEARNED INCllEMENT 201 In the Chinese Drawing-room. A few minutes later. Sir Bupert {to Undeeshell, after the introductions have been gone through). And so yoii missed the 4.55 and had to come on by the 7.30 which stops every- where, eh ? Undershell. It — it certainly does stop at most stations. Sir Rupert. And how did you get on to Wyvern — been here long ? Undcrshell. N — not particularly long. Sir Rupert. Fact is, you see, we made a mistake. Very ridiculous, but we've been taking that young fellow, Mr. SiDurrell, for you all this time ; so we never thought of inquiring whether you'd come or not. It was only just now he told us how he'd met you in the Verney Chamber, and the very handsome way, if you will allow me to say so, in which you had tried to efface yourself. Undcrshell {to himself). I didn't expect him to take that view of it ! {Aloud.) I — I felt I had no alter- native. [Lady Maisie regards him with admiration. Sir Rupert. You did an uncommon fine thing, sir, and I'm afraid you received treatment on your arrival which you had every right to resent. Undcrshell {to himself). I hoped he didn't know about the housekeeper's room! {Aloud.) Please 202 LYRE AND LANCET say no more about it, Sir Eupcrt. I know now that you were entirely innocent of any Sir Bupert {horrified). Good Gad ! you didn't suppose / had any hand in fixing up tliat booby- trap, or whatever it was, did you ? Young fellows will get bear-fighting and playing idiotic tricks on one another, and you seem to have been the victim — that's how it was. Have you had anything to eat since you came ? If not Undershell (hastihj). Thank you, I — I have dined, {To Jiimself.) So he doesn't know where, after all ! I will spare him that. Sir Bupert. Got some food at Shuntingbridge, eh ? Afraid they gave you a wretched dinner ? Undershell. Quite the reverse, I assure you. (To himself.) Considering that it came from his own table ! Pilliner {to himself). I still don't understand how his clothes {Aloud.) Did you send your port- manteau on ahead, then, or what ? Undershell {UanJcljj). Send my port — ? I don't understand. Pilliner. Oh, I only asked, because the other man said he was wearing your things. Sir Rupert {as Undershell remains speechless). I see how it was — perfectly simple — rush for the train — porter put your luggage in — you got left behind, wasn't that it ? UNEARNED INCREMENT 203 Undcrshdl. I — I certainly did get separated from my portmanteau, somehow, and I suppose it must have arrived before me. {To himself.) Considering the pace of the fly-horse, I think I am justified in assuming that ! Pilliner {to himself). Ass I was not to hold my tongue! Lady Maisie {in an uTidertone, to Captain Thick - nesse), Gerald, you remember what I said some time ago — about poetry and poets ? Captain Thicknesse. Perfectly. And I thought you were quite right. Lady Maisie. I was quite wrong. I didn't know what I was talking about. I do now. Good night. {She crosses to Undershell.) Good night, Mr. Blair, I'm so very glad we have met — at last ! [She goes. Undershell {to himself, rapturously). She's not freckled ; she's not even sandy. She's lovely ! And, by some unhoped-for good fortune, all this has only raised me in her eyes. I am more than compensated ! Captain Thicknesse {to himself). I may just as well get back to Aldershot to-morrow — noio. I'll go and prepare Lady C.'s mind, in case. It's hard luck; just when everything seemed goin' right ! I'd give somethin' to have the other bard back, I know. It's no earthly use my tryin' to stand against this one ! 204 Ll'llE A.ND LANCET PAET XX DIFFERENT PEESONS HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS Lady Maisie's Room at Wyvern. Time — Saturday night, ahout 11.30. Lady Maisie (^Phillipson, w/to is brushiny her hair). You are swrcmamma isn't expecting me? (Irresolutely.) Perhaps I had better just run in and say good night. Phillipson. I wouldn't recommend it, really, my lady ; her ladyship seems a little upset in her nerves this evening. Lady Maisie (to herself). Il-y-a de quoi ! (Aloud, re- lieved.) It might only disturb her, certainly. ... I hope they are making you comfortable here, Phillipson ? PhillijJson. Very much so indeed, thank you, my lady. The tone of the room downstairs is most superior. Lady Maisie. That's satisfactory. And I hear you have met an old admirer of yours here — Mr. Spurrell, I mean. Phillipson. We did happen to encounter each other in one of the galleries, my lady, just for a minute ; though I shouldn't have expected him to allude to it ! DIFFERENT OPINIONS 205 Lady Maisie. Indeed ! And why not ? Phillipson. Mr. James Spurrell appears to have elevated himself to a very different sphere from what he occupied when / used to know him, my lady ; though how and why he comes to be where he is, I don't rightly understand myself at present. Lady Maisie (to herself). And no wonder ! I feel horribly guilty ! (Aloud.) You mustn't blame poor Mr. Spurrell, Phillipson ; he couldn't help it ! Phillipson (ivith studied indifference). I'm not blaming him, my lady. If he prefers the society of his superiors to mine, he's very welcome to do so ; there's others only too willing to take his place ! Lady Maisie. Surely none who would be as fond of you or make so good a husband, Phillipson ! Phillipson. That's as maybe, my lady. There was one young man that travelled down in the same compartment, and sat next me at supper in the room. I could see he took a great fancy to me from the first, and his attentions were really quite pointed. I am sure I couldn't bring myself to repeat his remarks, they were so flattering ! Lady Maisie. Don't you think you will be rather a foolish girl if you allow a few idle compliments from a stranger to outweigh such an attachment as Mr. Spurrell seems to have for you ? 206 I.YRE AND LANCET PJdllipson. If he's found new friends, my lady, I consider myself free to act similarly. Ladi/ Maisic. Then you don't know ? He told us quite frankly this evening that he had only just discovered you were here, and would much prefer to be where you were. He went down to the house- keeper's room on purpose. Fhillipson (moved). It's the first I've heard of it, my lady. It must have been after I came up. If I'd only known he'd behave like that ! Lady Maisie (instructively). You see how loyal he is to you. And now, I suppose, he will find he has been supplanted by this new acquaintance — some smooth-tongued, good-for-nothing valet, I dare say ? Phillipson (injured). Oh, my lady, indeed he wasn't a man! But there was nothing serious between us — at least, on my side — though he certainly did go on in a very sentimental way himself. However, he's left the Court by now, that's one comfort ! (To herself.) I wish now I'd said nothing about him to Jem. If he was to get asking questions down- stairs He always ivas given to jealousy — reason or none ! [vl tap is heard at the door. Lady Bhoda (outside). Maisie, may I come in ? if you've done your hair, and sent away your maid. (She enters.) Ah, I see you haven't. DIFFERENT OPINIONS. 207 Lady Maisie. Don't run away, Ehoda ; my maid has just done. You can go now, Phillipson. Lady Blwda {to herself, as she sits down). Phillip- son! So that's the young woman that funny vet man prefers to us ! H'm, can't say I feel flattered ! Phillipson {to herself, as she leaves the room). This must be the Lady Pihoda, who was making up to my Jem ! He wouldn't have anything to say to her, though ; and, now I see her, I am not surprised at it ! [/S'Ac goes. A pause. Lady PJioda {crossing her feet on the fender). Well, we can't complain of havin' had a dull evenin', can we? Lady Maisie {taking a hand- screen from the mantel- shelf). Not altogether. Has — anything fresh hap- pened since I left ? Lady Bhoda. Nothing particular. Archie apolo- gised to this new man in the billiard-room. For the booby trap. We all told him he'd got to. And Mr. Carrion Bear, or Blundershell, or whatever he calls himself — you know — was so awf'Uy gracious and condescendin' that I really thought poor dear old Archie would have wound up his apology by punchin' his head for him. Strikes me, Maisie, that mop-headed minstrel boy is a decided change for the worse. Doesn't it you ? Lady Maisie {toying with the screen). How do you mean, Ehoda? "WELL, V,-E can't COMPLAIX OF HAVIN' HAD A DULL EVENIN', CAN WE?" DIFFERENT OPINIONS 209 Lady Rhoda. I meantersay I call Mr. Spurrell- Well, he's real, anyway — he's a man, don't you know. As for the other, so fcelle of him missin' his train like he did, and turnin' up too late for everything ! JTow, wasn't it ? Lady Maisie. Poets arc dreamy and unpractical and unpunctual — it's their nature. Lady Ehoda. Then they should stay at home. Just see what a hopeless muddle he's got us all into ! I declare I feel as if anybody might turn into some- body else on the smallest provocation after this. I hnoto poor Vivien Spelwane will be worryin' her pillows like rats most of the night, and I rather fancy it will be a close time for poets with your dear mother, Maisie, for some time to come. All this silly little man's fault ! Lady Maisie. No, Ehoda. Not his — ours. Mine and mamma's. We ought to have felt from the first that there imist be some mistake, that poor ]\Ir. Spurrell couldn't xjossihly be a poet ! I don't know, though — people generally are unlike what you'd ex- pect from their books. I believe they do it on purpose ! Not that that applies to Mr. Blair ; he is one's idea of what a poet should be. If he hadn't arrived when he did, I don't think I could ever have borne to read another line of poetry as long as I lived ! P 210 LYKK AND LANCET Lady EJioda. I sai/ f Do you call him as good- lookin' as all that ? Lady Maisie. I was not thinking about his looks, Ehoda — it's his conduct that's so splendid. Lady Blwda. His conduct? Don't see anything splendid in missin' a train. I could do it myself if I tried ? Lady Maisie. Well, I wish I could think there were many men capable of acting so nobly and generously as he did. Lady Rlioda. As how ? Lady Maisie. You really don't see ! Well, then, you shall. He arrives late, and finds that somebody else is here already in his character. He makes no fuss; manages to get a private interview with the person who is passing as himself; when, of course, he soon discovers that poor Mr. Spurrell is as much deceived as anybody else. What is he to do? Humiliate the unfortunate man by letting him know the truth ? Mortify my uncle and aunt by a public explanation before a whole dinner-party ? That is what a stupid or a selfish man might have done, almost without thinking. But not Mr. Blair. He has too much tact, too much imagination, too much chivalry for that. He saw at once that his only course was to spare his host and hostess, and — and all of us a scene, by slipping away quietly and unostentatiously, as he had come. DIFFERENT OPINIONS 211 Lady Rhoda (yaivninj). If lie saw all tliat, why didn't he do it ? Lady Maisie {indignantly). Why ? How pro- voking you can be, Ehoda! Why? Because that stupid Tredwell wouldn't let him ! Because Archie delayed him by some idiotic practical joke ! Because Mr. Spurrell went and blurted it all out! . . . Oh, don't try to run down a really fine act like that ; because you can't — you simply cant ! Lady Ehoda {after a low whistle). No idea it had gone so far as that — already ! Moto I begin to see why Gerry Thicknesse has been lookin' as if he'd sat on his best hat, and why he told your aunt he might have to be off to-morrow ; which is all stuff, because I happen to know his leave ain't up for two or three days yet. But he sees this Troubadour has put his poor old nose out of joint for him. Lady Maisie {flushing). Now, Ehoda, I won't have you talking as if — as if You ought to know, if Gerald Thicknesse doesn't, that it's nothing at all of that sort! It's just Oh, I can't tell you how some of his poems moved me, what new ideas, wider views they seemed to teach ; and then how dread- fully it hurt to think it was only Mr. Spurrell after all ! . . . But noio — oh, the relief of finding they're not spoilt; that I can still admire, still look up to 212 LYRE AND LANCET the man who wrote them ! Not to have to feel that he is quite commonplace — not even a gentleman — in the ordinary sense ! Lady Rlioda {rising). Ah well, I prefer a hero who looks as if he had his hair cut, occasionally — but then, I'm not romantic. He may be the paragon you say ; but if I was you, my dear, I wouldn't expect too much of that young man — allow a margin for shrinkage, don't you know. And now I think I'll turn into my little crib, for I'm dead tired. Good night ; don't sit up late readin' poetry ; it's my opinion you've read quite enough as it is ! {She goes. Lady Maisie (alone, as she gazes dreamily into the fire). She doesn't in the least understand ! She actually suspects me of As if I could possibly — or as if mamma would ever — even if he Oh, how silly I am ! , . . I don't care ! I am glad 1 haven't had to give up my ideal. I should like to know him better. What harm is there in that ? And if Gerald chooses to go to-morrow, he must — that's all. He isn't nearly so nice as he used to be ; and he has even less imagination than ever ! I don't think I could care for anybody so absolutely matter- of-fact. And yet, only an hour ago I almost • But that was hefore 1 ( 213 ) PAET XXI THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER. In the Morning Boom. Time — Sunday morning; just after hreakfast. Captain Thiehnesse {outside, to Tredwell). Dog- cart round, eh ? everything in ? All right — shan't be a minute. {Entering.) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here ? {He looks round diseoncertedly.) 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 dont want to. 214 LYRE AND LANCET 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 venti- lated 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 Thichnesse. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude / thought it ! Pilliner. Don't think any one 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, con- sidering. Pity Lady Cantire breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady Maisie. THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 215 Captain Thichiesse. 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 Eliza- bethan 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 Thichiesse. 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 / 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. 216 LYRE AND LANCET nilincr {to himself, after Captain TiilCKNESSE 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. [iZc disa2J23ears hastily in the direction of the Smolcing - room as Lady Caktire and j\Irs. Chatteris enter. Lady Cantire. Nonsense, my dear, no walk at all ; the church is only just across the park. My brother Eupert 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 ! I'LI, BE OFF, OR THEV'LL NAIL ME FOR CHURCH BEFOBE I KNOW IT." 218 LYRE AND LANCET 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. Eeally ? 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. Ladg 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 Ilupcrt {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 tete-a-tete with Lady Maisie ! Not exactly ! {Aloud.) I am afraid. Sir Piupert, that I cannot conscien- tiously THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 219 Sir Rupert {hastily). Oh, very well, very well ; do exactly as yon like about it, of course. I only thought {To himself.) Now, that other young chap would have gone ! Lady Cantire. Eupert, who is that you are talking to out there ? I don't recognise his voice, somehow. Sir Rupert {entering ivith Undersiiell). Ha, Eohesia, you've come down, then ? slept well, I hope. I was talking to a gentleman whose acquaint- ance I know you will be very happy to make — at last. This is the genuine celebrity this time. {To Undeeshell.) Let me make you known to my sister. Lady Cantire, Mr. Undershell. {As Lady Cantire glares interrogatively.) Mr. Clarion Blair, Eohesia, author of hum — ha — Andromache. Lady Cantire. I thought we were given to under- stand 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 ]\Iaisie's mamma. Better be evil to her, I suppose; 220 LYRE AND LANCET but I can't stay here and entertain her long! (Aloud.) Lady Cantire, I — er — have an appoint- ment for wliich I am abeady 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 Lacli/ Caniire. 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. Undcrshell {to hiiiose/f). If she imagines she's going to snub Me ! (Aloud.) Then I was evidently mistaken in gathering from some expres- sions in your daughter's letter that Lady Cantire. Entirely. You are probably think- ing 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, THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 221 Under shell. 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, Eohesia. So glad you felt equal to coming down. I was almost afraid — after last night, you know. LadyCantire {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 Eevolution ten years in a single evening ! Lady Culverin. My dear Eohesia ! If you re- member, 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 ? Lut I thought Gerald Thicknesse spoke as if — — ! 222 LYRE AND LANCET 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 under- standing together at this very moment. She is showing him the grounds ; which I always think are the great charm of Wyvern, so secluded ! Lady Cidverin {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 CiUverin. 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 con- cluded from what he said that Maisie must have Lady Cantire. Impossible, my dear, quite im- possible ! 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, wlio appears, arrayed for divine service.) Mrs. Chatteris, did I, or did I not, understand you to say just now that my daughter Maisie 1 THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 223 Mrs. Uliattcris {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 — symiiathetic — 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, what- ever comes of tliis, remember I shall hold you entirely responsible ! \^She sweeps out of the room ; the other tioo ladies look after her, and then at one another, in silent consternation. 224 I.YRE AND LANCET PAET XXII A DESCENT FKOM THE CLOUDS hi the UlizahctJian Garden. Lady Matsie and Undeeshell arc on a scat in the Ycvj Walk. Time — AhoiU 11 a.m. Lad)/ Maisie {softly). And you really meant to go away, and never let one of us know what had happened to you ! Under shell {to himself). How easy it is after all to be a hero ! {Aloud.) That certainly vms my inten- tion, only I was — er — not permitted to carry it out. I trust you don't consider I should have been to blame ? Lady Maisie {with shining eyes). To blame ? Mr. Blair ! As if I could possibly do that ! {To herself.) He doesn't even see how splendid it was of him ! Undershcll {to himself). I begin to believe that I can do 710 wrong in her eyes ! {Aloud.) It was not altogether easy, believe me, to leave without even having seen your face; but I felt so strongly that it was better so. A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 225 Lady Maisie {loohing down). And — do you still feel that ? Underslicll. T must confess that I am well content to have failed. It was such unspeakable torture to think that you, Lady Maisie, you of all people, would derive your sole idea of my personality from such an irredeemable vulgarian as that veterinary surgeon — the man Spurrell ! Lady Maisie {to herself, with an almost imper- ceptible start). I suppose it's only natural he should feel like that — but I wish — I do wish he had put it just a little differently ! (Aloud.) Poor IVir, Spurrell ! perhaps he was not exactly Undershell. Not exactly! I assure you it is simply inconceivable to me that, in a circle of any pretensions to culture and refinement, an ill-bred boor like that could have been accepted for a single moment as — I won't say a Man of Genius, but Lady Maisie (the light dying out of her eyes). No, don't — don't go on, Mr. Blair. We were all ex- cessively stupid, no doubt, but you must make allowances for us — for me, especially. I have had so few opportunities of meeting people who are really distinguished — in literature, at least. Most of the people I know best are — well, not exactly Q 226 I.YRE AND LANCET clever, you know. I so often wish I was in a set that cared rather more about intellectual things ! Undersliell (with infinite pity). How you must have pined for freer air ! How you must have starved on such mental provender as, for example, the vapid and inane commonplaces of that swaggering carpet- soldier, Captain — Thickset, isn't it ? Ladi/ Maisie (draivinj hack into her corner). You evidently don't know that Captain Thicknesse dis- tinguished himself greatly in the Soudan, where he was very severely wounded. Undcrshell. Possibly; but that is scarcely to the point. I do not question his efficiency as a fighting animal. As to his intelligence, perhaps, the less said the better. Lady Maisie {contracting her hrows). Decidedly. I ought to have mentioned at once that Captain Thicknesse is a very old friend of mine. Undcrshell. Eeally ? He, at least, may be con- gratulated. But pray don't think that I spoke with any personal animus ; I merely happen to entertain a peculiar aversion for a class whose profession is systematic slaughter. In these Democratic times, when Humanity is advancing by leaps and bounds towards International Solidarity, soldiers are such grotesque and unnecessary anachronisms. A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 227 Lady Maisic {to herself, ivith a little shiver). Oh, why does he — why does he? {Aloud.) I should have thought that, until war itself is an anachronism, men who are willing to fight and die for their country could never be quite unnecessary. But we won't dis- cuss Captain Thicknesse, particularly now that he has left Wyvern. Suppose we go back to Mr. Spurrell. I know, of course, that, in leaving him in ignorance as you did, you acted from the best and highest motives ; but still Undershell. It is refreshing to be so thoroughly understood ! I think I know what your " but still " implies — why did I not foresee that he would in- fallibly betray himself before long ? I did. But I gave him credit for being able to sustain his part for another hour or two — until I had gone, in fact. Lady Maisie. Then you didn't wish to spare his feelings as well as ours ? Undershell. To be quite frank, I didn't trouble myself about him : my sole object was to retreat with dignity ; he had got himself somehow or other into a false position he must get out of as best he could. After all, he would be none the worse for having filled my place for a few hours. Lady Maisie {slowly). I see. It didn't matter to you whether he was suspected of being an impostor, 228 LYRE AND LANCET or made to feel uncomfortable, or — or anything. Wasn't that a little unfeeling of you ? Under shell. Unfeeling ! I allowed him to keep my evening clothes, which is more than a good many Lady Ilaisic. At all events, he may have had to pay more heavily than you imagine. I wonder whether But I suppose anything so unroman- tic as the love affairs of a veterinary surgeon would have no interest for you ? Undershell. Why not. Lady Maisie ? To the Student of Humanity, and still more to the Poet, the humblest love-story may have its interesting — even its suggestive — aspect. Lady Maisie. Well, I may tell you that it seems Mr. Spurrell has long been attached, if not actually engaged, to a maid of mine. Undershell {startled out of his self-possession). You — you don't mean to Miss Phillipson ? Lady Maisie. That is her name. How very odd that you But perhaps Mr. Spurrell mentioned it to you last night ? Undershell {recovering his sangfroid). I am hardly likely to have heard of it from any other quarter. Lady Maisie. Of course not. And did he tell you that she was here, in this very house ? A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 229 Undershell. No, he never mentioned that. What a remarkable coincidence ! Lady Maisie. Yes, rather. The worst of it is that the foolish girl seems to have heard that he was a guest here, and have jumped to the conclusion that he had ceased to care for her; so she revenged herself by a desperate flirtation with some worthless wretch she met in the housekeeper's room, whose flattery and admiration, I'm very much afraid, have completely turned her head ! Undershell {uncomfortably). Ah, well, she must learn to forget him, and no doubt, in time How wonderful the pale sunlight is on that yew hedge ! Lady Maisie. You are not very sympathetic! I should not have told you at all, only I wanted to show you that if poor Mr. SpnrrcU did innocently usurp your place, he may have lost But I see all this only bores you. Undershell. Candidly, Lady Maisie, I can't affect a very keen interest in the — er — gossip of the house- keeper's room. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should condescend to listen to Lady Maisie {to herself). This is really too much ! {Aloud.) It never occurred to me that I was " con- descending " in taking an interest in a pretty and 230 LYRE AND LANCET wayward girl who happens to be my maid. But then, I'm not a Democrat, Mr. Blair. Undersliell. I — I'm afraid you construed my remark as a rebuke ; which it was not at all intended to be. Lachj Maisie. It would have been rather super- fluous if it had been, wouldn't it ? {Observing his growing uneasiness.) I'm afraid you don't find this bench quite comfortable ? Undersliell. I — er — moderately so. {To himself.) There's a female figure coming down the terrace steps. It's horribly like But that must be my morbid fancy; still, if I can get Lady Maisie away, just in case {Aloud.) D — don't you think sittin" still becomes a little — er — monotonous after a time ? Couldn't we [^ffe rises, spasmodically. Lady Maisie {rising too). Certainly ; we have sat here quite long enough. It is time we went back. Undershell {to himself). We shall meet her! and I'm almost sure it's I must prevent any {Aloud.) Not hack, Lady Maisie! You — you pro- mised to show me the orchid-house — you did, indeed ! Lady Maisie. Very well; we can go in, if you care about orchids. It's on our way back, Undershell {to himself). This is too awful! It is that girl Phillipson. She is looking for somebody ! A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 231 Me ! (Aloud.) On second thoughts, I don't think I do care to see the orchids. I detest them; they are such weird, unnatural, extravagant things. Let us turn back and see if there are any snowdrops on the lawn behind that hedge. I love the snowdrop, it is so trustful and innocent, with its pure green- veined Do come and search for snowdrops ! Zadj/ Maisie. Not just now. I think — {as she shields her eyes with one hand) — I'm not quite sure yet — but I rather fancy that must be my maid at the other end of the walk. Undershell (eagerly). I assure 'you, Lady Maisie, you are quite mistaken. Not the least like her ! Lady Maisie (astonished). Why, how can you possibly teU that, without having seen her, Mr. Blair ? Undershell. I — I meant You described her as "pretty," you know. This girl is plain — dis- tinctly plain ! Lady Maisie. I don't agree at all. However, it certainly is Phillipson, and she seems to have come out in search of me ; so I had better see if she has any message. Undershell. She hasn't. I'm positive she hasn't. She— she wouldn't walk like that if she had. (In feverish anxiety.) Lady Maisie, shall we turn back ? She — she hasn't seen us yet ! "DU COME A.ND BEAIICH roll b>-oWDUUPS!" A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 233 Lady Maisie. Eeally, Mr. Blair! I don't quite see why I should run away from my own maid! . . . What is it, Phillipson ? \_She advances to meet Phillipson, leaving Undekshell heJiind, motionless. Undershell (to himself). It's all over! That con- founded girl recognises me. I saw her face change ! She'll be jealous, I Jcnow she'll be jealous — and then she'll tell Lady Maisie everything! ... I wish to Heaven I could hear what she is saying. Lady Maisie seems agitated. . . . I — I might stroll gently on and leave them; but it would look too like running away, perhaps. jSTo, I'll stay here and face it out like a man ! I won't give up just yet. (He sinks limply upon the bench.) After all, I've been in worse holes than this since I came into this infernal place, and I've always managed to scramble out — triumphantly too ! If she will only give me five minutes alone, I knoiv 1 can clear myself; it isn't as if I had done anytliing to be ashamed of. . . . She's sent away that girl. She seems to be expecting me to come to her. . . . I — I suppose I'd better. [He rises with effort, and goes towards Lady Maisie with a jaunty unconsciousness that somehow has the air of stopjjing short just above the Jcnees. 234 LYRE AND LANCET PAET XXIII SHRINKAGE In the Yew Walk. Lady Maisie {to herself, as she watches Undeeshell approaching). How badly lie walks, and what does he mean by smiling at me like that ? {Aloud, coldly.) I am sorry, I\Ir. Blair, but I must leave you to finish your stroll alone ; my maid has just told me Undershell {vehemently). Lady Maisie, I ask you, in common fairness, not to judge me until you have heard my version. You will not allow the fact that I travelled down here in the same compartment with your maid, Phillipson Lady Maisie {toide-eyed). The same! But we came by that train. I thought you missed it ? Undershell. I — I was not so fortunate. It is rather a long and complicated story, but Lady Maisie. I'm afraid I really can't listen to you notv, Mr. Blair, after what I have heard from Phil- lipson — — SHEINKAGE 235 Underslidl. I implore you not to go without hear- ing both sides. Sit down again — if only for a minute. I feel confident that I can explain everything satis- factorily. Lady Maisie (sitting dovm). I can't imagine what there is to explain — and really I ought, if Phillip- son Undcrshell. You know what maids are, Lady Maisie. They embroider. Unintentionally, I dare say, but still, they do embroider. Zadij Maisie (puzzled). She is very clever at mending lace, I know, though what that has to do with it Undershell. Listen to me. Lady Maisie. I came to this house at your bidding. Yes, but for your written appeal, I should have treated the invitation I received from your aunt with silent contempt. Had I obeyed my first impulse and ignored it, I should have been spared humiliations and indignities which ought rather to excite your pity than — than any other sensation. Think — try to realise what my feelings must have been when I found myself ex- pected by the butler here to sit down to supper with him and the upper servants in the housekeeper's room ! Lady Maisie (shocked ). Oh, Mr. Blair ! Indeed, I had no You weren't really ! How could they ? What did you say ? 236 LYRE AND LANCET TJiider shell (haughtily). I believe I let him know my opinion of the snobbery of his employers in treating a guest of theirs so cavalierly. Ladi/ Maisic {distressed). But surely — surely you couldn't suppose that my uncle and aunt were capable of Undershell. What else could I suppose, under the circumstances ? It is true I have since learnt that I was mistaken in this particular instance ; but I am not ignorant of the ingrained contempt you aristocrats have for all who live by exercising their intellect — the bitter scorn of birth for brains ! Lady Maisie. I am afraid the — the contempt is all on the other side ; but if that is how you feel about it, I don't wonder that you were indignant. Undershell. Indignant ! I was furious. In fact, nothing would have induced me to sit down to supper at all, if it hadn't been for Lady Maisie {in a small voice). Then — you did sit down ? With the servants ! Oh, IVIr. Blair ! Undershell. I thought you were already aware of it. Yes, Lady Maisie, I endured even that. But {luith magnanimity) you must not distress yourself about it now. If / can forget it, surely you can do so! Lady Maisie. Can I ? That you should have SHRINKAGE 237 consented, for any consideration whatever; how could you — how could you ? Under shell {to Jiimsclf). She admires me all the more for it. But I knew she would take the right view ! (Aloud, with patJios.) I was only compelled by absolute starvation. I had had an unusually light lunch, and I was so hungry ! Lad]/ Maisie (after a pause). That explains it, of course. ... I hope they gave you a good supper ! Undershell. Excellent, thank you. Indeed, I was astonished at the variety and even luxury of the table. There was a pyramid of quails Lady Maisie. I am pleased to hear it. But I thought there was something you were going to explain. Undershell. I have been endeavouring to explain to the best of my ability that if I have undesignedly been the cause of — er — a temporary diversion in the state of Miss Phillipson's affections, no one could regret more deeply than I that the — er — ordinary amenities of the supper-table should have been mis- taken for Lady Maisie (horrified). Oh, stop, Mr. Blair, please stop ! I don't want to hear any more. I see now. It was yoib who Undershell. Of course it was I. Surely the girl herseK has been telling you so just now ! 238 LYRE AND LANCET Lady Maisie. You really thought that possible, too ? She simply came with a message from my mother. Undershell {slightly disconcerted). Oh ! If I had known it was merely that. However, I am sure I need not ask you to treat my — my communication in the strictest confidence, Lady Maisie. Lady Maisie. Indeed, that is 'perfectly unnecessary, Mr. Blair. Undershell. Yes, I felt from the first that I could trust you — even with my life. And I cannot regret having told you, if it has enabled you to understand me more thoroughly. It is such a relief that you know all, and that there are no more secrets between us. You do feel that I only acted as was natural and inevitable under the circumstances ? Lady Maisie. Oh yes, yes. I — I dare say you could not help it. I mean you did quite, quite right ! Undershell. Ah, how you comfort me with your fresh girlish You are not going, Lady Maisie ? Lady Maisie {rising). I must. I ought to have gone before. My mother wants me. No, you are not to come too; you can go on and gather those snowdrops, you know. [She walks slowly lack to the house. SHRINKAGE 239 Underslicll (looking after her). She took it wonder- fully well. I've made it all right, or she wouldn't have said that about the snowdrops. Yes, she shall not be disappointed ; she shall have her posy ! In the Morning-room. Half an hour later. Lady Maisie {alone — to herself). Thank goodness, that's over! It -was avjful. I don't think I ever saw mamma a deeper shade of plum colour ! IIoiu 1 have been mistaken in Mr. Blair ! That he could write those lines — "Aspiring unto that far-off Ideal, I may not stoop to any meaner love," and yet philander with my poor foolish Phillipson the moment he met her ! And then to tell mamma about my letter like that ! Why, even Mr. Spurrell had more discretion — to be sure, he knew nothinrr about it — but that makes no difference ! Ehoda was right ; I onght to have allowed a margin — ^only I should never have allowed margin enough! The worst of it is that, if mamma was unjust in some things she said, she was right about one. I have disgusted Gerald. He mayn't be brilliant, but at least he's straightforward and loyal and a gentleman, and — and he did like me once. He doesn't any more — or he wouldn't have gone away. And it may 240 LYRE AND LANCET be ages before I ever get a cbance to let him see how dreadfully sorry ■ {She turns, and sees Captain Thicknesse.) Oh, haven't you gone yet ? Captain Thicknesse. Yes, I went, but I've come back again. I — I couldn't help it; 'pon my word I couldn't. Lady 3Iaisie (with a sudden flush). You — you weren't sent for — by — by any one ? Captain Thicknesse. So likely any one would send for me, isn't it ? Lady Maisic. I don't know why I said that; it was silly, of course. But how Captain Thicknesse. Ean it a bit too fine ; got to Shuntin' bridge just in time to see the tail end of the train disappearin' ; wasn't another for hours — not much to do there, don't you know. Lady Maisie. You might have taken a walk — or gone to church. Captain Thicknesse. So I might, didn't occur to me ; and besides, I — I remembered I never said good-bye to you. Lady Maisie. Didn't you ? And whose fault was that ? Ca2Jtain TJiicknesse. Not mine, anyhow. You were somewhere about the grounds with Mr. Blair. Lady Maisie. Now you mention it, I believe I SHRINKAGE 241 ■was. We had — rather an interesting conversation. Still, you might have come to look for me ! Captain Thicknesse. Perhaps you wouldn't have been over and above glad to see me. Lady Maisie. Oh yes, I should! — When it was to say goocl-hye, you know ! Captain Thicknesse. Ah ! Well, I suppose I shall only be in the way if I stop here any longer now. Lady Maisie. Do you ? What makes you suppose that? Captain Thicknesse. Nothin' ! Saw your friend the bard hurryin' along the terrace with a bunch of snowdrops ; he'll be here in another Lady Maisie {in unmistakaUe horror). Gerald, why didn't you tell me before ? There's only just time ! [She flics to a door and opens it. Captain Thicknesse. But I say, you know ! Maisie, may I come too ? Lady Maisie. Don't be a goose, Gerald. Of course you can, if you like. [She disappears in the conservatory. Captain Thicknesse (to himself). Can't quite make this out, but I'm no end glad I came back ! [ITe follows quickly. Undershell {entering). I hoped I should find her here. {lie looks round.) Her mother's gone — that's 212 LYRE AND LANCET something I I dare say Lady Maisie will come in presently. {He sits down and re-arranges his snoiv- drops.) It will be sweet to see her face light up when I offer her these as a symbol of the new and closer link between us ! {He hears the sound of drapery behind him.) Ah, already ! {Rising, and presenting his flowers with doioricast eyes.) I — I have ventured to gather these — for you. {He raises his eyes. Miss Spelwane ! 3£iss Spelwane {talcing them graciously). How very sweet of you, Mr. Blair. Are they really for me ? Undershell {concealing his disappointment). Oh — er — yes. If you will give me the pleasure of accepting them. Miss Spelwane. I feel immensely proud. I was so afraid you must have thought I was rather cross to you last night. I didn't mean to be. I was feeling a little overdone, that was all. But you have chosen a charming way of letting me see that I am forgiven. {To herself.) It's really too touching. He certainly is a great improvement on the other wretch ! Undershell {dolefully). 1 — I had no such intention, I assure you. {To himself.) I hope to goodness Lady Maisie won't come in before I can get rid of this girl. I seem fated to be misunderstood here ! %m%M "now Vr.RV S'.VEET OF VoU, Wli. lil.AUl. AIIE THEY KEAI.LT FOP. ME?" 244 LYRE AND LANCET PAET XXIV THE HAPPY DISPATCH 'Perliaps it was right to dissemble your love, but- In the Morning-room. Time — Aleut 1 p.m. Undershell {to Imnsclf alone). I'm rather sorry that that Miss Spelwane couldn't stay. She's a trifle angular — but clever. It was distinctly sharp of her to see through that fellow Spurrell from the first, and lay such an ingenious little trap for him. And she has a great feeling for Literature — knows my verses by heart, I discovered, quite accidentally. All the same, I wish she hadn't intercepted those snow- drops. Now I shall have to go out and pick some more. {Sounds outside in the entranee hcdl.) Too late — they've got back from church ! Mrs. Broohe-Chatteris {entering with Lady Ehoda, Sir EUPERT and Bearpark). Such a nice, plain, simple service — I'm positively ravenous I Lady Ehoda. Struck me some of those chubby choir-boys wanted smackin'. What a business it seems to get the servants properly into their pew — THE HAPPY DISPATCH 245 as bad as boxin' a string of bimters ! As for you, Archie, the way you fidgeted durin' the sermon was downriglit disgraceful ! ... So there you are, Mr. Blair ; not been to church ; but I forgot — p'raps you're a Dissenter, or somethin' ? Under shell (annoyed). Only, Lady Ehoda, in the sense that I have hitherto failed to discover any form of creed that commands my intellectual assent. Lady Rhoda {unimpressed). I expect you haven't tried. Are you a — what d'ye call it? — a Lacedemoniac? Under shell (toith lofty tolerance). I presume you mean a "Laodicean." No, I should rather describe myself as a Deist. Arehie {in a surly undertone). What's a Beast when he's at home? If he'd said a Beast, now! {Aloud, as PiLLiNER ente7^s ivith Captain Thicknesse.) Hullo,' why, here's Thicknesse ! So you haven't gone, after all, then ? Captain Thicknesse. What an observant young beggar you are, Bearpark ! Nothin' escapes you, No, I haven't. {To Sir Eupert, rather sheepishly.) Fact, is, sir, I — I somehow just missed the train, and — and — thought I might as well come back, instead of waitin' about, don't you know. Sir Bupert (Jieartily). Why, of course, my dear boy, of course ! Never have forgiven you if you 246 LYRE AND LANCET hadnt. Great nuisance for you, though. Hope you blew the fool of a man up ; he ought to have been round in plenty of time. Captain Thichiesse. Not the groom's fault, sir. I kept him waitin' a bit, and — and we had to stop to shift the seat and that, and so Undershell {to himself). Great blundering booby ! Can't he see nobody wants him here ? As if he hadn't bored poor Lady Maisie enough at breakfast ! Ah, well, I must come to her rescue once more, I suppose ! Sir Mupert. Half an hour to lunch ! Anybody like to come round to the stables ? I'm going to see how my wife's horse Deerfoot is getting on. Fond of horses, eh, Mr. — a — Undershell ? Care to come with us ? Undershell {to himself). I've seen quite enough of that beast already ! {Aloud, with some asperity.) You must really excuse me, Sir Eupert. I am at one with Mr. Euskin — I detest horses. Sir Rupert. Ah ? Pity. We're rather fond of 'em here. But we can't expect a poet to be a sportsman, eh ? Undershell. For my own poor part, I confess I look forward to a day, not far distant, when the spread of civilisation will have abolished every form of so-called Sport. Sir Eupert. Do you, though ? {After conquering a choice with dificulty.) Allow me to hope that you THE HAPPY DISPATCH 247 will continue to enjoy the pleasures of anticipation as long as possible. {To the rest.) Well, are you coming ? [All except Undershell/o//oi^ their host out. Undershell {alone, to himself). If they think I'm going to be patronised, or suppress my honest con- victions ! Now I'll go and pick those (Lady Maisie enters from the conservatory.) Ah, Lady Maisie, I have been trying to find you. I had plucked a few snowdrops, which I promised myself the pleasure of presenting to you. Unfortunately they — er — failed to reach their destination. Lady Maisie {distantly). Thanks, Mr. Blair ; I am only sorry you should have given yourself such unnecessary trouble. Undershell {detaining her, as she seemed about to pass on). I have another piece of intelligence which you may hear less — er — philosophically. Lady Maisie. Your hete noire has returned. Lady Maisie {with lifted eyebrows). My lete noire, Mr. Blair ? Undershell. Why affect not to understand? I have an infallible instinct in all matters concerning you, and, sweetly tolerant as you are, I instantly divined what an insufferable nuisance you found our military friend, Captain Thicknesse. Lady Maisie. There are limits even to my tolerance. 248 LYRE AND LANCET Mr. Blair. I admit I find some people insufferable — but Captain Thicknesse is not one of them. Undershdl. Then appearances are deceptive indeed. Come, Lady Maisie, surely you can trust mc ! [Lady Cantire enters. Lady Cantire' (in her most atvful tones). Maisie, my dear, I appear to have interrupted an interview of a somewhat confidential character. If so, pray let me know it, and I will go elsewhere. Lady Maisie {calmly). Not in the very least, mamma. Mr. Blair was merely trying to prepare me for the fact that Captain Thicknesse has come back ; which was quite needless, as I happen to have heard it already from his own lips. Lady Cantire. Captain Thicknesse come back ! {To Undekshell.) I wish to speak to my daughter. May I ask you to leave us ? Undershcll. With pleasure. Lady Cantire. {To liimself, as lie retires.) What a consummate actress that girl is ! And what a coquette ! Lady Cantire {after a silence). Maisie, what does all this mean ? No nonsense, now ! What brouLrht Gerald Thicknesse back ? Lady Maisie. I suppose the dog-cart, mamma. He missed his train, you know, I don't tliink he minds — much. THE HAPPY DISPATCH 249 Lady Cardire. Let me tell you this, my dear. It is a great deal more than you deserve after How long has he come back for ? Lady Maisie. Only a few hours ; but — but from things he said, I fancy he would stay on longer — if Aunt Albinia asked him. Lady Cantire. Then we may consider that settled ; he stays. (Lady Culveein appears.) Here is your aunt. You had better leave us, my dear. Someivliat later ; the Party have assemUed for Lttnch. Sir Rupert {to his vnfe). Well, my dear, I've seen that young Spurrell (smart fellow he is, too, thoroughly up in his business), and you'll be glad to hear he can't find anything seriously wrong with Deerfoot. Under shell (in the haekground, to himself). No more could I, for that matter ! Sir Piupert. He's clear it isn't navicular, whicli Adams was afraid of, and he thinks, with care and rest, you know, the horse will be as fit as a fiddle in a very few days. Undershell {to himself). Just exactly what I told them ; but the fools wouldn't believe me ! Lady Culvcrin. Oh, Rupert, I ani so glad. How clever of that nice Mr. Spurrell ! I was afraid my poor Deerfoot would have to be shot. 250 LYRE AND LANCET Undcrshdl (to himself). She may thank me that he wasn't. And this other fellow gets all the credit for it. How like Life ! Zadif Maisie. And, Uncle Eupert, how about — about Phillipson, you know ? Is it all right ? Sir Rupert. Phillipson ? Oh, why, 'pon my word, my dear, didn't think of asking. Lady Bhoda. But / did, Maisie. And they met this mornin', and it's all settled, and they're as happy as they can be. Except that he's on the look out for a mysterious stranger, who disappeared last night, after tryin' to make desperate love to her. He is determined, if he can find him, to give him a piece of his mind. [Undershell endeavours to conceal his extreme uneasiness. niliner. And the whole of a horsewhip. He invited my opinion of it as an implement of castiga- tion. Kind of thing, you know, that would impart " proficiency in the trois temps, as danced in the most select circles," in a single lesson to a lame bear. {To himself.) I drew my little bow at a venture, and I'm hanged if it hasn't touched him up! There's something fishy about this chap — I felt it all along. Still, I don't see what more I can do— or I'd do it, for poor old Gerry Thicknesse's sake. THE HAPPY DISPATCH 251 Underslicll {to himself). I don't stir a step out of this house while I'm here, that's aU ! Sir Rupert. Ha-ha! Athletic young chap that. Glad to see him in the field next Tuesday, By the way, Albinia, you've heard how Thicknesse here contrived to miss his train this morning ? Our gain, of course ; but still we must manage to get you back to Aldershot to-night, my boy, or you'll get called over the coals by your colonel when you do put in an appearance, hey ? Now, let's see ; what train ought you to catch ? [^He takes ^ip "Bradshaw" from a writiiig- table. Lady Cantire {'possessing herself of the volume). Allow me, Eupert, my eyes are better than yours. / will look out his trains for him. {After consulting various pages.) Just as I thought I Quite impossible for him to reach North Camp to-night now. There isn't a train till six, and that gets to town just too late for him to drive across to "Waterloo and catch the last Aldershot train. So there's no more to be said. \_Slie puts " Bradshaw " awag. Captain Thicknesse {with undisguised relief). Oh, weU, dessay they won't kick up much of a row if I don't get back till to-morrow, — or the day after, if it comes to that. 252 LYRE AND LANCET Underslicll {to liimself). It shan't come to that — if / can prevent it ! Lady Maisie is quite in despair, I can see. (Aloud.) Indeed ? I was — a — not aware that discipline was quite so lax as that in the British Army. And surely officers should set an example of [He finds that Ids intervention has produced a distinct sensation, and, taking wp the dis- carded " Bradshaw " becomes engrossed in its study. Captain Thichnesse {ignoring him completely). It's like this, Lady Culverin. Somehow I — I muddled up the dates, don't you know. Mean to say, got it into my head to-day was the 20th, instead of only the 18th. {Lamely.) That's how it vjas. Lady Culverin. Delightful, my dear Gerald. Then we shall keep you here till Tuesday, of course ! Undershell (looldng uy from " Bradshaw," impid- sively). Lady Culverin, I see there's a very good train which leaves Shuntingbridge at 3.15 this after- noon, and gets YThe rest regard him with unaffected surprise and disapproval. Lady Cantire {raising her glasses). Upon my word, Mr. Blair! If you will kindly leave Captain Thicknesse to make his own arrangements ! THE HAPPY DISPATCH 253 Lady Maisie {interposing hastily). But, mamma, you must have misunderstood Mr. Blair ! As if he would dream of He was merely mentioning the train he wishes to go by himself. Weren't you, Mr. Blair ? Undersliell (llinhing and gasping). I — eh ? Just so, that — that ivas my intention, certainly. {To himself.) Does she at all realise what this will cost her ? Lady Culverin. My dear Mr. Blair, I — I'd no notion we were to lose you so soon ; hut if you're really quite sure you must go Lady Cantire {sharply). Eeally, Albinia, we must give him credit for knowing his own mind. He tells you he is obliged to go ! Lady Cidverin. Then of course we must let you do exactly as you please. Pilliner {to himself). Lady Maisie's a little brick ! No notion she had it in her. No occasion to bother myself about the beggar now, " Let him alone and he'll go home, and carry his tail beneath him ! " \All except Miss Spelwane breathe more freely ; Teedwell appears. Lady Cuherin. Oh, lunch, is it, Tredwell ? Very well. By the bye, see that some one packs Mr. Undershell's things for him, and tell them to send 254 LYRE AND LANCET the dog-cart round after lunch in time to catch the 3.15 from Shuntingbridge. Archie (sotio voce, to Pilliner). We don't want any more missin' of trains, eh ? I'll go round and see the cart properly balanced myself this time. Pilliner (in the same tone). No, dear boy, you're not to be trusted ! I'll see that done, then the bard and his train will be alike in one respect — neither of 'em '11 be missed ! Miss SjJclwane {to herself, piqiced.) Going already ! I wish I had never touched his ridiculous snowdrops ! Lady Culverin. Well, shall we go in to lunch, everybody ? [Thci/ move in irregular order towards the dining-hall. Undershell (in an undertone to Lady Maisie, as they follow last). Lady Maisie, I — er — this is just a little unexpected. I confess I don't quite understand your precise motive in suggesting so — so hasty a departure. Lady Maisie {without looking at him). Don't you, Mr. Blair? Perhaps— when you come to think over it all quietly — you will. [She passes on, leaving him perplexed. Undershell {to himself). Shall I ? I certainly can't say I do just Why, yes, I do! That bully " iT.RHArs— wiiics VOL" co'Mi; TO THINK ovr.:; it all quieti.t— tou ■will." ^5Q LYRE AND LANCET Spurrell with his horsewhip ! She dreads an encounter between us — and I should much prefer to avoid it myself. Yes; that's it, of course. She is willing to sacrifice anything rather than endanger mij personal safety ! What unselfish angels some women are! Even that sneering fellow Drysdale will be impressed when I tell him this. . . . Yes, it's best that I should go — I see that now. I don't so much mind leaving. Without any false humility, I can hardly avoid seeing that, even in the short time I have been amongst these people, I have produced a decided impression. And there is at least one— perhaps ttvo — who will miss me when I am gone. [He goes into the Dining-hall, tvith restored comjplaeency. THE END. fKINTEU BY WaHAM Ci.'J\VES ANP SONS, HMUED, LCNOON AND BECCLES. THE NOVEL SERIES. 1^^ This is a series of works, each in One Volume, by the best Writers of the day, Englisli and American. The Volumes are suitable for the pocket and the shelf ; they are convenient to handle, being of the square 16mo size, while from their appearance, as well as from their literary merit, they deserve a place in the library. The volumes are bound in cloth, and are uniform, except in thickness and in price. The prices will be 2s., 3s., and 4s. 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