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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 LOS ANGELES
 
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 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<jns of restiveness) . Well, Bishop, I wish I could 
 find YOU a little more ready to listen to what the 
 other side has to say ! 
 
 The Bishop (who has been " heckled " to the verge of 
 his endurance.) I am — ah — not conscious of any 
 unreadiness to enter into conversation with the very 
 estimable lady on my other side, should an opportunity 
 present itself. 
 
 Lady Cantire. Now, that's one of your quibbles, 
 my dear Bishop, and I detest quibbling ! But at 
 least it shows you haven't a leg to stand upon. 
 
 The Bishop. Precisely — nor to — ah — run away 
 upon, dear lady. I am wholly at your mercy, you 
 perceive ! 
 
 Ladjj Cantire {triumphantly). Then you admit 
 you're beaten ? Oh, I don't despair of you yet, Bishop. 
 
 The Bishop. I confess I am less sanguine. {To 
 
 himself.) Shall I have strength to bear these buffets 
 
 with any remains of Christian forbearance through 
 
 three more courses ? Ha, thank Heaven, the salad ! 
 
 [iZc cheers up at the sight of this olive-hranch, 
 
 Mrs. Earivaker {to Pilliner). Now, I don't 
 altogether approve of the New Woman myself ; but 
 still, I am glad to see how women are beginning to 
 assert themselves and come to the front ; surely you 
 sympathise with all that ?
 
 TIME AND THE HOUR 113 
 
 Pilliner {'plaintively). ISTo, really I can't, you know ! 
 I'd so much rather they ivouldnt. They've made us 
 poor men feel positively obsolete ! They'll snub us 
 out of existence soon — our sex will be extinct — and 
 then they'll be sorry. There'll be nobody to protect 
 them from one another! After all, we can't help 
 being what we are. It isn't my fault that I was 
 born a Man Thing — now, is it ? 
 
 Lady Cantire {overhearing this remark). Well, if 
 it is a fault, Mr. Pilliner, we must all acknowledge that 
 you've done everything in your power to correct it ! 
 
 Pilliner {sweetly). How nice and encouraging of 
 you, dear Lady Cantire, to take up the cudgels for 
 me like that ! 
 
 [Lady Cantiee privately relieves her feelings hj 
 expressing a preference for taking up a 
 hirch rod, and renews her attack on the 
 Bishop. 
 
 3fr. Sliorthorn {who has been dragging his mental 
 depths for afresh topic — hopefully, to Miss Spelwane). 
 By the bye, I haven't asked you what you thought 
 about these — er — revoltinGr daurfnters ? 
 
 o o 
 
 Miss Spelwane. No, you haven't ; and I thought it 
 so considerate of you. 
 
 Mr. Shorthoen gives wp dragging, in dis- 
 couragement. 
 
 I
 
 114 LYRE AND LAXCET 
 
 Pilliner (sotto voce, to ]\Iiss Spelwane). Have you 
 quite done sitting on that poor unfortunate man ? 2 
 heard you ! 
 
 Miss Spehvane (in the same tone). I'm afraid I 
 have been rather beastly to him. But, oh, he is such 
 a bore — he would talk about his horrid " silos," till I 
 asked him whether they would eat out of his hand. 
 After that, the subject dropped — somehow. 
 
 Pilliner. I see you've been punishing him for not 
 happening to be a distinguished poet. I thought he 
 was to have been the fortunate man ? 
 
 Miss Spehuane. So he was ; but they changed it 
 all at the last moment ; it really was rather pro- 
 vokincj. I could have talked to him. 
 
 Pilliner. Lady Ehoda appears to be consoling 
 him. Poor dear old Archie's face is quite a study. 
 But really I don't see that his poetry is so very 
 wonderful ; no more did you this morning ! 
 
 Miss Spelwane. Because you deliberately picked out 
 the worst bits, and read them as badly as you could ! 
 
 Pilliner. Ah, well, he's here to read them for 
 himself now. I dare say he'd be delighted to be 
 asked. 
 
 Miss Spelwane. Do you know, Bertie, that's rather 
 a good idea of yours. I'll ask him to read us some- 
 thing to-night.
 
 TIME AND THE HOUR 115 
 
 Pilliner {aghast). To-night ! "With all these people 
 here ? I say, they'll never stand it, you know. 
 
 [Lady Culveein gives the signal. 
 
 Miss SpelwoMe (as she rises). They ought to feel 
 it an immense privilege. I know / shall. 
 
 The Bishop (to himself, as he rises). Port in sight 
 — at last ! But, oh, what I have had to suffer ! 
 
 Ladg Cantire (at parting). Well, we've had quite 
 one of our old discussions. I always enjoy talking 
 to yoio, Bishop. But I haven't yet got at your 
 reasons for voting as you did on the Parish Councils 
 Bill ; we must go into that upstairs. 
 
 The Bishop (with strict xeraeity). I shall be — ah — all 
 impatience. Lady Cantire. (To himself.) I fervently 
 trust that a repetition of this experience may yet 
 be spared me ! 
 
 Lady Bhoda (as she leaves Spueeell). You will 
 tell me the name of the stuff upstairs, won't you ? 
 So very much ta ! 
 
 Archie (to himself). I'd like to tar him very much, 
 and feather him too, for cuttin' me out like this ! 
 (The men sit down ; Spueeell finds himself hctween 
 Aechie and Captain Thicknesse, at the further end 
 of the table ; Aechie passes the wine to Spueeell ivith 
 a scowl.) What are you drinkin' ? Claret ? What 
 do you do your writin' on, now, as a general thing t
 
 1 SHALL BE— AH — ALL IMPATIENCE, LADT CANTIRE."
 
 TIME AND THE HOUR 117 
 
 Spurrell {on the defensive). On paper, sir, when 
 I've any to do. Do you do yours on a slate ? 
 
 Captain Thicknesse. I say, that's rather good. Had 
 you there, Bearpark ! 
 
 Spurrell {to Archie, lowering his voice). Look here, 
 I see you're trying to put a spoke in my wheel. 
 You saw me writing at dinner, and went and told 
 that young lady I was going to take everything off 
 there and then, which you must have known I wasn't 
 lilcely to do, Now, sir, it's no business of yours 
 that I can see ; but, as you seem to be interested, 
 I may tell you that I shall go up and do it in my 
 own room, as soon as I leave tliis table, and there 
 will be no fuss or publicity about it whatever, I 
 hope you're satisfied now ? 
 
 Archie. Oh, /'m satisfied. {He rises.) Left my 
 cigarette-case upstairs — horrid bore — must go and 
 get it. 
 
 Captain Thicknesse. They'll be bringing some 
 round in another minute. 
 
 Archie. Prefer my own, {To himself, as he leaves 
 the hall.) I knew I was right. That bounder is 
 meaning to scribble some rot about us all! He's 
 goin' straight up to his room to do it, . , , Well, 
 he may find a little surprise when he gets there ! 
 
 Captain Thicknesse {to himself). Mustn't let this
 
 118 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 poet fellow think I'm jealous; dare say, after all, 
 there's nothing serious between them. Not that it 
 matters to me ; any way, I may as well talk to him. 
 I wonder if he knows anything about steeplechasin'. 
 \^Rc discovers that Spueeell is not unacquainted 
 uith this branch of knowledge. 
 
 In a Corridor leading to the Housekeeper's Room. 
 Time— 9.30 p.m. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). If I wasn't absolutely 
 compelled by sheer hunger, I would not touch a 
 morsel in this house. But I can't get my things 
 back till after ten. As soon as ever I do, I will 
 insist on a conveyance to the nearest inn. In the 
 meantime I must sup. After all, no one need know 
 of this humiliating adventure. And if I am com- 
 pelled to consort with these pampered menials, I 
 think I shall know how to preserve my dignity — 
 even while adapting myself to their level. And that 
 girl will be there — a distinctly redeeming fact in the 
 situation. I will be easy — affable, even ; I will lay 
 aside all foolish pride ; it would be unreasonable to 
 visit their employer's snobbery upon their unoffend- 
 ing heads. I hear conversation inside this room. 
 This must be the door. I — I suppose I had better 
 go in. \He enters.
 
 C 1^9 ) 
 
 PAET XII 
 
 DIGNITY UNDEK DIFFICULTIES 
 
 In the Househeeper' s Boom at Wyvcrn ; Mrs. Pomfket, 
 the Housekeeper, in a hlacJc silk gown and her 
 smartest cap, is seated in a winged armchair by 
 the fire, discussing domestic politics ivith Lady 
 Culverin's maid, Miss Stickler. The Chef, 
 M. EiDEVOS, is resting on the sofa, in languid 
 converse with Mile. Chiffon, Miss Spelwane's 
 maid ; Pilliner's man, Louch, watches Steptoe, 
 Sir Kupert's valet, with admiring envy, as he 
 makes himself agreeable to Miss Phillipson, ivho 
 is in demi-toilette, as are all the other ladies maids 
 present. 
 
 Miss Stickler (in an impressive undertone). All I 
 do say, Mrs. Pomfret, ma'am, is this: if that girl 
 Louisa marches into the pew to-morrow, as she did 
 last Sunday, before the second laundry maid — and
 
 ]20 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 lier only under-scuUery maid — such presumptious- 
 ness should be put a stop to in future ! 
 
 Mo^s. Pomfret (tahcezilij). Depend upon it, my dear, 
 it's her ignorance ; but I shall most certainly speak 
 about it. Girls must be taught that ranks was made 
 to be respected, and the precedency into that pew 
 has come down from time immemoriable, and is not 
 to be set aside by such as her while J'm 'ousekeeper 
 here. 
 
 Mile. Chiffon (in Frencli, to M. Pjdevos). You 
 have the aix fatigued, my poor friend ! Oh, there — 
 but fatigued ! 
 
 M. Eidevos. Broken, Mademoiselle, absolutely 
 broken. But what will you ? This night I surpass 
 myself. I achieve a masterpiece — a sublime pyramid 
 of quails with a sauce that will become classic. I 
 pay now the penalty of a veritable crisis of nerves. 
 It is of my temperament as artist. 
 
 Mile. Chiffon. And me, my poor friend, how I have 
 suffered from the cookery of these others — I who 
 have the stomach so feeble, so fastidious ! Figure 
 to yourself an existence upon the villainous curry, 
 the abominable " lahristue," beloved by these bar- 
 barians, but which succeed with me not at all — oh, 
 but not at all ! Since I am here — ah, the difference ! 
 I digest as of old — I am gay. But next week to
 
 v-iiiiS'/ 
 
 mm I 
 
 •BUOliEX, MADEJIOTSELLE, ABSOLVTELT BROKEK.
 
 122 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 return with mademoiselle to the curry, my poor 
 friend, what regrets ! 
 
 M. Bidcvos. For me, dear mademoiselle, for me 
 the regrets — to hear no more the conversation, so 
 spiritual, so sympathetic, of a fellow-countrywoman. 
 Por remark that here they are stupid — they compre- 
 hend not. And the old ones they roll at me the eyes 
 to make terror. Behold this Gorgon who approaches. 
 She adores me, my word of honour, this ruin ! 
 
 [Miss Stickler comes up to the sofa smiling in 
 liajypj unconseiousness. 
 
 Miss Sticlder (graciously). So you've felt equal to 
 joining us for once, Mossoo ! We feel it a very 'igh 
 compliment, I can assure you. "We've really been 
 feeling quite 'urt at the way you keep to yourself 
 — you might be a regular 'ermit for all we see of you ! 
 
 M. Bidcvos. For invent, dear Mees, for create, ze 
 arteeste must live ze solitaire as of rule. To-night — 
 no! I emairge, as you see, to res-tore myself viz 
 your smile. 
 
 Miss Sticlder {fiattered). Well, I've always said, 
 Mossoo, and I always will say, that for polite 'abits 
 and pretty speeches, give me a Frenchman ! 
 
 M. Bidevos (alarmed). For me it is too moch 
 'appiness. For anozzer, ah ! 
 
 [He Jcisses his fingers with ineffable grace.
 
 DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 123 
 
 Phillipson (advancing to meet Miss Dolman, who 
 has just entered). Why, I'd no idea I should meet 
 you here, Sarah ! And how have you been getting 
 on, dear ? Still with ? 
 
 Miss Dolman (checking her with a look). Her grace ? 
 N"o, we parted some time ago. I'm with Lady Ehoda 
 Cokayne at present. {In an undertone, as she taJces 
 her aside.) You needn't say anything here of your 
 having known me at Mrs. Dickenson's. I couldn't 
 afford to have it get about in the circle I'm in that 
 I'd ever lived with any but the nobility. I'm sure 
 you see what I mean. Of course I don't mind your 
 saying we've met. 
 
 Phillijjson. Oh, I q^dte understand. I'll say 
 nothing. I'm obliged to be careful myself, being 
 maid to Lady Maisie Mull. 
 
 Miss Dolman. My dear Emma ! It is nice seeing 
 you again — such friends as we used to be ! 
 
 Phillipson. At her Grace's ? I'm afraid you're 
 thinking of somebody else. (She crosses to JVIrs. 
 PoMFEET.) Mrs. Pomfret, what's become of the 
 gentleman I travelled down with — the horse doctor ? 
 I do hope he means to come in; he would amuse 
 you, Mr. Steptoe. I never heard anybody go on like 
 him ; he did make me laugh so ! 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret. I really can't say where he is, my
 
 124 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 dear. I sent up word to let him know he was 
 welcome here whenever he pleased ; but perhaps he's 
 feeling a little shy about coming down. 
 
 PMlli27Son. Oh, I don't think he suffers much from 
 that. (As the door opens.) Ah, there he is ! 
 
 Mrs. Pom/ret (rising, with dignity, to receive 
 Undershell, ivho enters in obvious cnibarrassment). 
 Come in, sir. I'm glad to see you've found your 
 way down at last. Let me see, I haven't the 
 advantage of knowing your — Mr. Undershell, to be 
 sure ! Well, Mr. Undershell, we're very pleased to 
 see you. I hope you'll make yourself quite at home. 
 Her ladyship gave particular directions that we was 
 to look after you — most particular she was ! 
 
 Undershell. You are very good, ma'am. I am 
 obliged to Lady Culv.erin for her {with a gulp) con- 
 descension. But I shall not trespass more than a 
 short time upon your hospitality. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret. Don't speak of it as trespassing, sir. 
 It's not often we have a gentleman of your profession 
 as a visitor, but you are none the less welcome. 
 Now I'd better introduce you all round, and then 
 you won't feel yourself a stranger. Miss Phillipson 
 you have met, I know. 
 
 \^She introduces hiin to the others in turn ; 
 Undershell hows helplessly.
 
 DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 125 
 
 Steptoe (with urhanity). Your fame, sir, has pre- 
 ceded you. And you'll find us a very friendly and 
 congenial little circle on a better acquaintance — if 
 this is your first experience of this particular form of 
 society ? 
 
 Undershell {to liimsdf). I mustn't be stiff, I'll put 
 them at their ease, {Aloud.) Why, I must admit, 
 Mr. Steptoe, that I have never before had the 
 privilege of entering the — {with an ingratiating smile 
 all round him) the "Pugs' Parlour," as I understand 
 you call this very charming room. 
 
 [The company draw themselves up and cough 
 in disapprobation. 
 
 Steptoe {very stifflTj). Pardon me, sir, you have 
 been totally misinformed. Such an expression is 
 not current here. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret {more stiffly still). It is never alluded 
 to in my presence except as the 'ousekeeper's room, 
 which is the right and proper name for it. There 
 may be some other term for it in the servants' 'all 
 for anything / know to the contrary — but, if you'll 
 excuse me for saying so, Mr. Undershell, we'd prefer 
 for it not to be repeated in our presence. 
 
 Undershell {confusedly). I — I beg ten thousand 
 pardons. {To himself.) To be pulled up like this 
 for trying to be genial — it's really too humiliating !
 
 126 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Steptoe {relaxing). Well, well, sir ; we must make 
 some allowances for a neophyte. You'll know 
 better another time, I dare say. Miss Phillipson 
 here has been giving you a very favourable character 
 as a highly agreeable rattle, jMr. Undershell. I hope 
 we may be favoured with a specimen of your social 
 talents later on. We're always grateful here for 
 anything in that way — such as a recitation now, or a 
 comic song, or a yumorous imitation — anything, in 
 short, calculated to promote the general harmony 
 and festivity will be appreciated. 
 
 Miss Stickler (acidly). Provided it is free from any 
 helement of coarseness, which we do not encourage — 
 far from it ! 
 
 Undershell {suppressing his irritation). You need 
 be under no alarm, madam. I do not propose to 
 attempt a performance of any kind. 
 
 Phillipson. Don't be so solemn, Mr. Undershell ! 
 I'm sure you can be as comical as any play-actor 
 when you choose ! 
 
 Undershell. I really don't know how I can have 
 given you that impression. If you expect me to 
 treat my lyre like a horse-collar, and grin through it, 
 I'm afraid I am unable to gratify you. 
 
 Steptoe {at sea). Capital, sir, the professional allu- 
 sion very neat. You'll come out presently, / can
 
 DIGNITY UNDEB DIFFICULTIES 127 
 
 see, when supper's on the table. Can't expect you 
 to rattle till you've something inside of you, 
 can we ? 
 
 Ifiss SticMer. Eeelly, Mr. Steptoe, I am surprised 
 at such commonness from you ! 
 
 Steptoe. Now you're too severe. Miss Stickler, you 
 are indeed. An innocent little Judy Mow like 
 that! 
 
 Tredwell {outside). Don't answer me, sir. Ham I 
 butler 'ere, or ham I not? I've a precious good 
 mind to report you for such a hignorant blunder. . . , 
 I don't want to hear another word about the gentle- 
 man's does — you'd no hearthly business for to do 
 such a thing at all ! {He enters and flings himself 
 down on a chair.) That Thomas is beyond every- 
 thing — stoopid hass as he is ! 
 
 3frs. Pomfrct {eoncerned). La, Mr. Tredwell, you 
 do seem put out! Whatever have Thomas been 
 doing novj ? 
 
 Undershcll {to himself). It's really very good of 
 him to take it to heart like this ! {Alo7id.) Pray 
 don't let it distress you ; it's of no consequence, 
 none at all ! 
 
 Tredwell {glaring). I'm the best judge of that, 
 Mr. Undershell, sir — if you'll allow rae ; I don't call 
 my porogatives of no consequence, whatever yoii,
 
 128 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 may ! And that feller Thomas, Mrs. Pomfret, 
 actially 'ad the hordacity, without consulting me 
 previous, to go and 'and a note to one of our gentle- 
 men at the hupstairs table, all about some hassinine 
 mistake he'd made with liis does ! What call had 
 he to take it upon himself? I feel puffecly dis- 
 graced that such a thing should have occiu-red under 
 my authority ! 
 
 [The Steward's Eoom Boy has entered with a 
 
 dish, and listens with secret anxiety on his 
 
 oion account. 
 Undershell. I assure you there is no harm done. 
 The gentleman is wearing my evening clothes — but 
 
 he's going to return them 
 
 [The conclusion of the sentence is drowned in 
 
 a roar of laughter from the majority. 
 Tredivcll (jjasinng). Hevenin' does ! Your 
 
 hevenin' P'raps you'll 'ave the goodness to 
 
 explain yourself, sir ! 
 
 Steptoe. No, no, Tredwell, my dear fellah, you 
 don't understand our friend here — he's a bit of a 
 wag, don't you see ? He's only trying to pull your 
 leg, that's all ; and, Gad, he did it too ! But you 
 mustn't take liberties with this gentleman, Mr. 
 Undershell ; he's an important personage here, I can 
 tell you !
 
 DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 129 
 
 UndcrshcU (earnestly). But I never meant — if 
 
 you'll only let me explain 
 
 [_The Boy has come behind him, and ad- 
 ministers a surrei^tiiious kieh, whieh 
 Undershell rightly construes as a hint 
 to hold his tongue. 
 Tredwell {in solemn offence). I'm accustomed, Mr. 
 Hunclershell, to be treated in this room with respect 
 and deference — especially by them as come here in 
 the capacity of guests. From such I regard any 
 attempt to pull my leg as in hindifferent taste — to 
 say the least of it. I wish to 'ave no more words on 
 the subjick, which is a painful one, and had better 
 be dropped, for the sake of aU parties. Mrs. Pomfret, 
 * I see supper is on the table, so, by your leave, we 
 had better set down to it. 
 
 Fhillipson (to Undekshell). Never mind him, 
 pompous old thing ! It was awfully cheeky of you, 
 though. You can sit next me if you like. 
 
 Undershell (to himself, as he avails himself of this 
 ^permission). I shall only make things worse if I 
 explain now. But, oh, great Heavens, what a 
 position for a poet 1 
 
 K
 
 130 LYRli: AND TANCET 
 
 TAET XIII 
 
 what's in a name? 
 
 At the Biqtpcr-taUc in the Housekeeper's Room. IVIrs. 
 
 PoMFEET and Teedwell are at the head and 
 
 foot of the table respectively/. Undeeshell is 
 
 hetvjeen Mrs. Pomfeet and Miss Phillipson. 
 
 TJie Steward's Eoom Boy waits. 
 
 Tredwell. I don't see Mr, Adams here tliis even- 
 ing, Mrs. Pomfret. What's the reason of that ? 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret. Why, he asked to be excused to- 
 night, Mr. Tredwell. You see some of the visitors' 
 coachmen are putting up their horses here, and he's 
 helping Mr. Checkley entertain them. {To Undee- 
 SHELL.) Mr. Adams is our stud-groom, and him 
 and Mr. Checkley, the 'ed coachman, are very 
 friendly just now. Adams is very clever with his 
 horses, I believe, and I'm sure he'd have liked a talk 
 with you ; it's a pity he's engaged elsewhere this 
 evening.
 
 WHATS IN A NAME ? 131 
 
 Undcrshdl {inystified). I — I'm exceedingly sorry 
 to have missed him, ma'am. {To himself.) Is the 
 stud-groom literary, I wonder ? . . . Ah, no, I re- 
 member now ; I allowed Miss Phillipson to conclude 
 that my tastes were equestrian. Perhaps it's just as 
 well the stud -groom isnH here ! 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret. Well, he may drop in later on. I 
 shouldn't be surprised if you and he had met before. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). I should. {Aloud.) I 
 hardly think it's probable. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret. I've known stranger things than 
 that happen. Why, only the other day, a gentleman 
 came into this very room, as it might be yourself, 
 and it struck me he was looking very hard at me, 
 and by and bye he says, " You don't recollect me, 
 ma'am, but I know you very well," says he. So I 
 said to him, " You certainly have the advantage of 
 me at present, sir." " WeU, ma'am," he says, " many 
 years ago I had the honour and privilege of being 
 steward's room boy in a house where you was still- 
 room maid; and I consider I owe the position I 
 have since attained entirely to the good advice you 
 used to give me, as I've never forgot it, ma'am," 
 says he. Then it flashed across me who it was — 
 " Mr. Pocklington ! " says I. Which it were. And 
 him own man to the Duke of Dumbleshire ! Which
 
 132 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 was what made it so very nice and 'andsome of hiin 
 to remember me all that time. 
 
 Under shell {'perfunctorily). It must have been 
 most gratifying, ma'am. {To himself.) I hope this 
 old lady hasn't any more anecdotes of this highly 
 interesting nature. I mustn't neglect Miss Phillip 
 son — especially as I haven't very long to stay here. 
 
 [^He consults his watch stealthily. 
 
 Miss Philli2)son {observing the action). I'm sorry you 
 find it so slow here ; it's not very polite of you to show 
 it quite so openly though, I must say. [She pouts. 
 
 Undershcll {to himself). I can't let this poor girl 
 think me a brute ! But I must be careful not to go 
 too far. {To her, in an undertone which he tries to 
 render unemotional.) Don't misunderstand me like 
 that. If I looked at my watch, it was merely to 
 count the minutes that are left. In one short half- 
 hour I must go — I must pass out of your life, and 
 you must forget — oh, it will be easy for you — but for 
 me, ah ! you cannot think that I shall carry away a 
 heart entirely unscathed ! Believe me, I shall always 
 look back gratefully, regretfully, on 
 
 Phillipson (lending her head with a gratified little 
 giggle). I declare you're beginning all that again. I 
 never did see such a cure as you are. 
 
 Undershell {to himself, displeased). I wish she could
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 133 
 
 bring herself to take me a little more seriously. I 
 can not consider it a comjjliment to be called a 
 " cure " — whatever that is. 
 
 Steptoe {considering it time to interfere). Come, 
 Mr. Undershell, all this whispering reelly is not fair 
 on the company! You mustn't hide your bushel 
 under a napkin like this ; don't reserve all your 
 sparklers for Miss Phillipson there. 
 
 Undershell {stiffly). I — ah — was not making any 
 remark that could be described as a sparkler, sir. I 
 dont sparkle. 
 
 Phillipson {demurely). He was being rather senti- 
 mental just then, Mr. Steptoe, as it happens. Not 
 that he can't sparkle, when he likes. I'm siu-e if 
 you'd heard how he went on in the fly ! 
 
 Steptoe {with mcdiee). Not having been privileged 
 to be present, perhaps our friend here could recollect 
 a few of his happiest efforts and repeat them. 
 
 Miss Dolman. Do, Mr. Undershell, please. I do 
 love a good laugh. 
 
 Undershell {crimson). I — you really must excuse 
 me. I said nothing worth repeating. I don't 
 remember that I was particularly 
 
 Steptoe. Pardon me. Afraid I was indiscreet. We 
 must spare Miss Phillipson's blushes by all manner 
 of means.
 
 134 LYRE AXD LANCET 
 
 PMllipson. Oil, it was nothing of that sort, Mr. 
 Steptoe ! /'ve no objection to repeat what he said. 
 He called me a little green something or other. 
 No ; he said that in the train, though. But he would 
 have it that the old cab-horse was a magic steed, 
 and the fly an enchanted chariot ; and I don't know 
 what all. {As nolocly smiles.) It sounded awfully 
 funny as he said it, with his face perfectly solemn 
 like it is now, I assure you it did ! 
 
 Stejptoe (patronisinghj). I can readily believe it. 
 We shall have you contributing to some of our 
 yumerous periodicals, Mr. Undershell, sir, before long. 
 Such facetious talent is too good to be lost, it reelly is, 
 
 Undershell {to himself, writhing). I gave her credit 
 for more sense. To make me publicly ridiculous 
 like this ! [Re sulks. 
 
 Miss Stickler (to ]\I, Eidevos, who suddenly rises). 
 Mossoo, you're not going! AVhy, whatever's the 
 matter ? 
 
 31. Eidevos. Pairmeet zat I make my depart. I 
 am cot at ze art. [General outcry and sensation. 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret {concerned). You never mean that, 
 Mossoo 1 And a nice dish of quails just put on, too, 
 that they haven't even touched upstairs ! 
 
 M. Eidevos. It is for zat I do not remmain ! Zey 
 'ave not toch him ; my pyramide, result of a genius
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 135 
 
 stupend, enorme ! to zem he is nossing ; zey rettiirn 
 him to crash me ! To-morrow I demmand zat miladi 
 accept my demission. Id je souffre trop ! 
 
 [He leaves the room precipitately. 
 
 Miss Stickler {offering to rise). It does seem to 
 have upset him ! Shall I go after him and see if I 
 can't bring him round ? 
 
 Mrs. Pomfret [severely). Stay where you are, 
 Harriet; he's better left to himself. If he wasn't 
 so wropped up in his cookery, he'd know there's 
 always a dish as goes the roimd untasted, without 
 why or wherefore. I've no patience with the man ! 
 
 Treclwell [philosophically). That's the worst of 
 'aving to do with Frenchmen; they're so apt to 
 beyave with a sutting childishness that — [checking 
 himself) — I really ask your pardon, mamsell, I quite 
 forgot you was of his nationality ; though it ain't to 
 be wondered at, I'm sure, for you might pass for an 
 Englishwoman almost anywhere ! 
 
 3Ille. Chiffon. As you for Frenchman, hein ? 
 
 Tredwell. No, 'ang it all, mamsell, I 'ope there's 
 no danger o' that! [To Miss Phillipson.) Delighted 
 to see the Countess keeps as fit as ever, Miss Phillip- 
 son ! Wonderful w^oman for her time o' life ! Law, 
 she did give the Bishop beans at dinner, and no 
 mistake !
 
 136 LYRE AND LAXCET 
 
 Fhillipson. Her ladyship is pretty generous with 
 them to most people, Mr. Tredwell. I'm sure I'd 
 have left her long ago, if it wasn't for Lady Maisie — ■ 
 who is a lady, if you like ! 
 
 Tredwell. She don't favour her ma, I will say that 
 for her. By the way, who is the party they brought 
 down with them ? a youngish looking chap — seemed 
 a bit out of his helement, when he first come in, 
 though he's soon got over that, judging by the way 
 him and your Lady Rhoda, Miss Dolman, was 
 'obnobbing together at table ! 
 
 Phillipson. Nobody came down with my ladies; 
 they must have met him in the bus, I expect. What 
 is his name ? 
 
 Tredwell. Why, he give it to me, I know, when I 
 enounced him ; but it's gone clean out of my head 
 again. He's got the Verney Chamber, I know that 
 much ; but what ivas his name again ? I shall forget 
 my own next. 
 
 Under shell {involuntarily). In the Verney Chamber? 
 Then the name must be SpurreU ! 
 
 Phillipson {starting). Spurrell ! Why, / used to 
 But of com-se it can't be him ! 
 
 Tredwell. Spm-rell was the name, though. ( With 
 a resentful glare at Undersiiell.) I don't know how 
 you came to be aware of itj sir !
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME ? 137 
 
 Undersliell. Why, the fact is, I happened to find 
 out tliat — {here he receives an admonitory drive in the 
 hack from the Boy) — that his name was Spurrell. 
 {To himself.) I wish this infernal boy wouldn't be 
 officious — but perhaps he's right ! 
 
 Tredwell. Ho, indeed! Well, another time, Mr. 
 HundersheU, if you require information about parties 
 staying with iis, p'raps you'll be good enough to 
 apply to me pussonally, instead of picking it up in 
 some 'ole-and-corner fashion. (Undekshell controls 
 his indignation loith dificidty^ To return to the 
 individual in question. Miss Phillipson, I should 
 have said myself he was something in the artistic or 
 littery way ; he suttingly didn't give me the impres- 
 sion of being a gentleman. 
 
 Phillipson {to herself, relieved). Then it isn't my 
 Jem ! I might have known he wouldn't be visiting 
 here, and carrying on with Lady Ehodas. He'd 
 never forget himseK like that — if he has forgotten me ! 
 
 Steptoe. It strikes me he's more of a sportino- cha- 
 racter, Tredwell. I know when I was circulatino- 
 with the cigarettes and so on, in the hall just now, 
 he was telling the Captain some anecdote about an 
 old steeplechaser that was faked up to win a sellin'T 
 handicap, and it tickled me to that extent I could 
 hardly hold the spirit-lamp steady.
 
 WHAT'S IX A NAME ? 139 
 
 Tredivell. I may be mistook, Steptoe. All / can 
 say is, that when me and James was serving cawfy 
 to the ladies in the drawing-room, some of them had 
 got 'old of a little pink book all sprinkled over with 
 silver cutlets, and, rightly or wrongly, I took it to 
 'ave some connection with 'im. 
 
 Under shell {excitedly). Pink and silver ! Might I 
 ask — was it a volume of poetry, called — er — Andro- 
 meda ? 
 
 Tredwell {crushingly). That I did not take the 
 liberty of inquiring, sir, as you might be aware if you 
 was a little more familiar with the hetiquette of good 
 society. 
 
 [ITndershell collapses ; Mr. Adams enters, and 
 steps into the chair vacated hy the Chef, next 
 to Mrs. PoMFEET, with whom he converses. 
 
 Under shell {to himself). To think that they may 
 be discussing my book in the drawing-room at this 
 
 very moment, while I — I {He chokes.) Ah, it 
 
 won't bear thinking of ! I must — I will get out of 
 this accursed place ! I have stood this too long as 
 it is ! But I won't go till I have seen this fellow 
 Spurrell, and made him give me back my things. 
 What's the time ? , . . ten ! I can go at last. {He 
 rises.) Mrs. Pomfret, will you kindly excuse me ? 
 I — 1 find I must go at once.
 
 140 LYEE AND LANCET 
 
 3frs. Pom/ret. Well, Mr. Undershell, sir, you're 
 the best judge ; and, if you really can't stop, this is 
 Mr. Adams, who'll take you round to the stables 
 himself, and do anything that's necessary. Won't 
 you, ]\Ir. Adams ? 
 
 Adams. So you're off to-night, sir, are you ? Well, 
 I'd rather ha' shown you Deerfoot by daylight, myself; 
 but there, I dessay that won't make much difference 
 to you, so long as you do see the 'orse ? 
 
 Undershell {to himself). So Deerfoot's a horse! 
 One of the features of Wyvern, I suppose ; they seem 
 very anxious I shouldn't miss it. / don't want to 
 see the beast; but I dare say it won't take many 
 minutes ; and, if I don't humour this man, I shan't 
 get a conveyance to go away in ! {Aloud.) No differ- 
 ence whatever — to me. I shall be delighted to be 
 shown Deerfoot; only I really can't wait much 
 longer ; I — I've an appointment elsewhere ! 
 
 Adams. Eight, sir; you get your 'at and coat, and 
 
 come along with me, and you shall see him at once. 
 
 [Undershell tahes a hasty farewell of Miss 
 
 Phillipson and the company generally — 
 
 none of whom attempts to detain him — and 
 
 folloxos his guide. As the door closes upon 
 
 them, he hears a hurst of stifled merriment, 
 
 ' amidst which Miss Phillipson's laughter 
 
 is only too painfully recognisable.
 
 ( 141 ) 
 
 TAET XIV 
 
 LE VET^EINAIRE MALGE^ LUI 
 
 Outside the StaUes at Wyvern. 
 Time — About 10 p.m. 
 
 Undershell (to Jdmself, as he foUoivs Adams). Now 
 is my time to arrange about getting away from here. 
 (To Adams.) By the bye, I suppose you can let me 
 have a conveyance of some sort — after I've seen the 
 horse ? I — I'm rather in a hurry. 
 
 Adams. You'd better speak to Mr. Checkley about 
 that, sir; it ain't in m7/ department, you see. I'll 
 fetch him round, if you'll wait here a minute ; he'd 
 like to hear what you think about the 'orse. 
 
 [^He goes off to the coachman s quarters. 
 
 Undershell {cdonc). A very civil fellow this; he 
 seems quite anxious to show me this animal ! There 
 must be something very remarkable about it. 
 
 [Adams returns with Checkley. 
 
 Adams. Mr. Checkley, our 'ed coachman, Mr.
 
 142 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Undershcll. He's coming in along with us to 'ear 
 what you say, if you've no objections. 
 
 Uiidcrshell {to liimself). I must make a friend of 
 
 this coachman, or else {Aloud.) I shall be 
 
 charmed, Mr. Checkley. I've only a very few 
 minutes to spare ; but I'm most curious to see this 
 horse of yours. 
 
 Checkley. He ain't one o' my 'orses, sir. If he 'ad 
 been But there, I'd better say nothing about it. 
 
 Adams {as he leads the way into the stahles, and 
 turns up the gas). There, sir, that's Deerfoot over 
 there in the loose box. 
 
 Under shell {to himself). He seems to me much 
 like any other horse ! However, I can't be wrong in 
 admiring. {Aloud, as he inspects him through the 
 rails.) Ah, indeed ? he is worth seeing ! A magni- 
 ficent creature ! 
 
 Adams {stripping off Deerfoot's clothing). He's a 
 good 'orse, sir. Her ladyship won't trust herself on 
 no other animal, not since she 'ad the influenzy so 
 bad. She'd take on dreadful if I 'ad to tell her he 
 wouldn't be fit for no more work, she would ! 
 
 Undershell {sympathetically). I can quite imagine 
 so. Not that he seems in any danger of that ! 
 
 ChecJcley {triumphantly). There, you 'ear that, 
 Adams ? The minute he set eyes on the 'orse !
 
 LE VETERINAIHE MALGEE LUl 14o 
 
 Adams. Wait till Mr. UnderslicU has seen him 
 move a bit, and see what he says then. 
 
 ChecMey. If it was what you think, he'd never be 
 standing like he is now, depend upon it. 
 
 Adams. You cant depend upon it. He 'eard us 
 coming, and he's quite artful enough to draw his foot 
 back for fear o' getting a knock. {To Undershell.) 
 I've noticed him very fidgety-like on his forelegs 
 this last day or two. 
 
 Undershell. Have you, though? {To himself.) I 
 hope he won't be fidgety with his hind-legs. I shall 
 stay outside. 
 
 Adams. 1 cooled him down with a rubub and 
 aloes ball, and kep 'im on low diet ; but he don't 
 seem no better, 
 
 Undershell {to himself). I didn't gather the horse 
 was unwell. {Aloud.) Dear me ! no better ? You 
 don't say so ! 
 
 Checkley. If you'd rubbed a little embrocation into 
 the shoulder, you'd ha' done more good, in my 
 opinion, and it's my belief as Mr. Undershell here 
 will teU you I'm right. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). Can't afford to offend the 
 coachman ! {Aloud.) Well, I dare say — er — embro- 
 cation would have been better. 
 
 Adams. Ah, that's where me and Mr. Checkley
 
 144 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 differ. According to me, it ain't to do with the 
 shoulder at all — it's a deal lower down. , . . I'll 
 'ave him out of the box and you'll soon see what 
 I mean. 
 
 Undershell {hastily). Pray don't trouble on my 
 account. I — I can see him capitally from where 
 I am, thanks. 
 
 Adams. You know best, sir. Only I thought 
 you'd be better able to form a judgment after you'd 
 seen the way he stepped across. But if you was to 
 come in and examine the frog ? — I don't like the 
 look of it myself. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). I'm sure I don't. I've a 
 horror of reptiles. {Aloud.) You're very good. I — 
 I think I won't come in. The place must be rather 
 damp, mustn't it — for that ? 
 
 Adams. It's dry enough in 'ere, sir, as you may 
 see ; nor yet he ain't been standing about in no wet. 
 Still, there it is, you see ! 
 
 Undershell {to liimself). What a fool he must be 
 not to drive it out ! Of course it must annoy the 
 horse. {Aloud). I don't see it; but I'm quite 
 willing to take your word for it. 
 
 Adams. I don't know how you can expect to see 
 it, sir, without you look inside of the 'oof for it. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). It's not alive — it's
 
 LE VETERINAIRE MALGRE LUI 145 
 
 something inside the hoof. I suppose I ought to 
 have known that. (Aloud.) Just so ; but I see no 
 necessity for looking inside the hoof. 
 
 Chccldey. In course he don't, or he'd ha' looked 
 the very fust thing, with all his experience. I 'ope 
 you're satisfied now, Adams ? 
 
 Adams. I can't say as I am. I say as no man 
 can examine a 'orse thoroughly at that distance, be 
 he who he may. And whether I'm right or wrong, 
 it 'ud be more of a satisfaction to me if Mr. Under- 
 sheU was to step in and see the 'oof for himself. 
 
 GhecMey. Well, there's sense in that, and I dessay 
 Mr. Undershell won't object to obliging you that far. 
 
 Undershell {with reluctance). Oh, with pleasure, if 
 you make a point of it. 
 
 [^He enters the loose hox delicately. 
 
 Adams (picking up one of the horses feet). Now, 
 tell me how this 'ere 'oof strikes you. 
 
 Undershell (to himself). That hoof can't; but I'm 
 not so sure about the others. (Aloud, as he inspects 
 it.) Well — er— it seems to me a very nice hoof. 
 
 Adams (grimhj). I was not arsking your opinion 
 of it as a work of art, sir. Do you see any^narrering 
 coming on, or do you not? That's what I should 
 like to get out of you I 
 
 Undershell (to himself). Does this man suppose 
 
 L
 
 146 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 I colled hoofs ! However, I'm not going to commit 
 myself. {Aloud.) H'm — well, I — I rather agree 
 with Mr. Checkley. 
 
 Chcckley. I knew he would ! Now you've got it, 
 Adams ! / can see Mr. UndersheU knows what he's 
 about. 
 
 Adams {persistently). But look at this 'ere pastern. 
 You can't deny there's puffiness there. How do you 
 get over that ? 
 
 UndersheU. If the horse is puffy, it's his business 
 to get over it — not mine. 
 
 Adams {aggrieved). You may think proper to treat 
 it light, sir; but if you put your 'and down 'ere, 
 above the coronet, you'll feel a throbbing as plain 
 as 
 
 UndersheU. Very likely. But I don't know, really, 
 that it would afford me any particular gratification 
 if I did ! 
 
 Adams. Well, if you don't take my view, I should 
 ha' thought as you'd want to feel the 'orse's pulse. 
 
 UndersheU. You are quite mistaken. I don't. 
 {To himself.) Particularly as I shouldn't know where 
 to find it. What a bore this fellow is with his horse ! 
 
 (Jliechlejj. In course, sir, you see what's running in 
 Mr. Adams's 'ed all this time, what he's a-driving 
 at, eh ?
 
 LE VETERINAIRE MALGRE LUI 147 
 
 Undershell {to himself). I only wish I did ! This 
 will require tact. {Aloud.) I — I could hardly avoid 
 seeing that — could I ? 
 
 Checkley. I should think not. And it stands to 
 reason as a vet like yourself 'd spot a thing like 
 navickler fust go off. 
 
 Undershell {to himself). A vet! They've been 
 taking me for a vet all this time ! I can't have been 
 so ignorant as I thought. I really don't like to 
 undeceive them — they might feel annoyed. {Aloud, 
 knoivinghj.) To be sure, I — I spotted it at once. 
 
 Adams. He does make it out navicular after all ! 
 What did I tell you, Checkley ? Now p'raps you'll 
 believe me ! 
 
 Cheekley. I'll be shot if that 'orse has navickler, 
 whoever says so — there ! 
 
 Adams {gloomily). It's the 'orse '11 'ave to be shot ; 
 worse luck ! I'd ha' give something if Mr. Under- 
 shell could ha' shown I was wrong ; but there was 
 very little doubt in r,iy mind what it was all along. 
 
 Undershell {to himself, horrified). I've been pro- 
 nouncing this unhappy animal's doom without know- 
 ing it! I must tone it down. {Aloud.) No — no, 
 I never said he must be shot. There's no reason to 
 despair. It— it's quite a mild form of er— clavicular 
 — not at all infectious at present. And the horse
 
 148 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 has a splendid constitution. I — I really think he'll 
 soon be himself again, if we only — er — leave Nature 
 to do her work, you know, 
 
 Adams {after a prolonged vjJiistle). Well, if Nature 
 ain't better up in her work than you seem to be, it's 
 'igh time she chucked it, and took to something else. 
 You've a lot to learn about navicular, you 'ave, if 
 you can talk such rot as that ! 
 
 Checldcy. Ah, I've 'ad to do with a vet or two in 
 my time, but I'm blest if I ever come across the 
 likes o' you afore ! 
 
 Undershell (to himself). 1 kneiv they'd find me out ! 
 I must pacify them. (Aloud.) But, look here, I'm 
 not a vet. I never said I was. It was your mistake 
 entirely. The fact is, my — my good men, I came 
 down here because — well, it's unnecessary to explain 
 now why I came. But I'm most anxious to get 
 away, and if you, my dear Mr. Checkley, could let 
 me have a trap to take me to Shuntingbridge to- 
 night, I should feel extremely obliged. 
 
 [Checkley stares, deprived of speech. 
 
 Adams (with a private wink to Checkley). Cer- 
 tainly he will, sir. I'm sure Checkley '11 feel proud 
 to turn out, late as it is, to oblige a gentleman with 
 your remarkable knowledge of 'orseflesh. Drive you 
 over hisself in the broom and pair, /shouldn't wonder !
 
 X 
 
 ..-f 
 
 
 'you've a lot to learn about KAVICULAB, TOU AVE, If YOU CAS TALK SUCH 
 
 KOT AS THAT ! "
 
 150 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Undershell. One horse will be quite sufficient. 
 Very well, then. I'll just run up and get my port- 
 manteau, and — and one or two things of mine, and 
 if you will be round at the back entrance — don't 
 trouble to drive up to the front door — as soon as 
 possible, I won't keep you waiting longer than I can 
 help. Good evening, Mr. Adams, and many thanks. 
 {To himself, as lie hurries hach to the house.) I've got 
 out of that rather well. Now, I've only to find my 
 way to the Verney Chamber, see this fellow Spurrell, 
 and get my clothes back, and then I can retreat with 
 comfort, and even dignity ! These Culverins shall 
 learn that there is at least one poet who will not put 
 up with their insolent patronage ! 
 
 Chcekley {to Adams). He has got a cool cheek, and 
 no mistake ! But if he waits to be druv over to 
 Shuntingbridge till / come round for him, he'll 'ave 
 to set on that portmanteau of his a goodish time ! 
 
 Adams. He did you pretty brown, I must say. 
 To 'ear you crowing over me when he was on your 
 side. I could 'ardly keep from larfing ! 
 
 Checldey. I see he warn't no vet long afore you, 
 but I let it go on for the joke of it. It was rich to 
 see you a-wanting him to feel the 'oof, and give it 
 out navickler. Well, you got his opinion for what 
 it was wuth, so yotc're all right !
 
 LE VETERINATRE MALGRE LUI 151 
 
 Adams. You think nobody knows anytMng about 
 'orses but yourself, you do ; but if you're meanin' to 
 make a story out o' this against me, why, I shall 
 tell it my way, that's aU ! 
 
 Chechley. It was you he made a fool of, not me — 
 and I can prove it — there ! 
 
 {They dispute the point, with rising warmth, 
 for some time. 
 
 Adams {calming down). Well, see 'ere, Checkley, 
 I dunno, come to think of it, as either on us '11 show 
 up partickler smart over this 'ere job ; and it strikes 
 me we'd better both agree to keep quiet about it, eh ? 
 (Checkley acq^dcsces, not unwillingly.) And I think 
 I'll take a look in at the 'ousekeeper's-room pre- 
 sently, and try if I can't drop a hint to old Tredwell 
 about that smooth-tongued chap, for it's my belief 
 he ain't down 'ere for no good !
 
 152 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 PAET XV 
 
 TRAPPED ! 
 
 In a Gallery outside the Verney CJiamher. 
 Time — Ahout 10.15 p.m. 
 
 Undcrshell (to Jiimself, as he emerges from a hack 
 staircase). I suppose this is the corridor ? The boy 
 said the name of the room was painted up over the 
 door. . . . Ah, there it is ; and, yes, Mr. Spurrell's 
 name on a card. . . . The door is ajar; he is pro- 
 bably waiting for me inside. I shall meet him quite 
 
 temperately, treat it simply as a {He enters; 
 
 a waste-pajper hasJcet, containing an ingenious arrange- 
 ment of liquid and solid substances, descends on his 
 head.) "What the devil do you mean, sir, by this 
 
 outrageous ? All dark! Nobody here! Is 
 
 there a general conspiracy to insult me ? Have I 
 
 been lured up here for a brutal (Spueeell 
 
 hursts in.) Ah, there you are, sir! (With cold
 
 TRAPPED ! 153 
 
 dignity, through the lattice-work of the basket.) Will 
 you kindly explain what this means ? 
 
 Spurrell. Wait till I strike a light. {After lighting 
 a pair of candles.) Well, sir, if you don't know why 
 you're ramping about like that under a waste-paper 
 basket, I can hardly be expected to 
 
 Undershell. I was determined not to remove it 
 until somebody came in ; it fell on my head the 
 moment I entered ; it contained something in a 
 soap-dish, which has wetted my face. YOu may 
 laugh, sir, but if this is a sample of your aristo- 
 cratic 
 
 Spurrell. If you could only see yourself! But 
 /'d nothing to do with it, 'pon my word I hadn't ; 
 only just this minute got away from the hall. . . . 
 / know! It's that sulky young beggar, Bearpark. 
 I remember he slipped off on some excuse or other 
 just now. He must have come in here and fixed 
 that affair up for me — confound him ! 
 
 Undershell. I think /'m the person most entitled 
 
 to But no matter ; it is merely one insult 
 
 more among so many. I came here, sir, for a 
 purpose, as you are aware. 
 
 Spurrell {ruefully). Your dress clothes ? All 
 right, you shall have them directly. I wouldn't have 
 put 'em on if I'd known they'd be wanted so soon.
 
 154 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Undcrsliell. I should have thought your own 
 would have been more comfortable. 
 
 Spurrcll. More comfortable! I believe you. 
 Why, I assure you I feel like a Bath bun in a baby's 
 sock ! But how was I to know ? You shouldn't 
 leave your things about like that ! 
 
 Undcrsliell. It is usual, sir, for people to come to a 
 place like this provided with evening clothes of their 
 own. 
 
 Spurrdl. I know that as well as yon do. Don't 
 you suppose I'm unacquainted with the usages of 
 society! Why, I've stayed in boarding-houses at 
 the seaside many a time where it was de rigger to 
 dress — even for high tea ! But coming down, as I 
 did, on business, it never entered my head that I 
 should want my dress suit. So, when I found them 
 all as chummy and friendly as possible, and expect- 
 ing me to dine as a matter of course, — why, I can 
 tell you I was too jolly glad to get hold of anything 
 in the shape of a swallowtail and white choker to be 
 over particular ! 
 
 Undershcll. You seem to have been more fortunate 
 in your reception than I. But then / had not the 
 advantage of being here in a business capacity. 
 
 Spurrell. Well, it wasn't that altogether. You 
 see, I'm a kind of a celebrity in my way.
 
 TRAPPED ! 155 
 
 Undershcll. I should hardly have thought that 
 would be a recommendation here. 
 
 Spurrell. I was surprised myself to find what a 
 lot they thought of it ; but, bless you, they're all as 
 civil as shopwalkers ; and, as for the ladies, why, the 
 old Countess and Lady Maisie and Lady Ehoda 
 couldn't be more complimentary if I'd won the 
 Victoria Cross, instead of getting a first prize for 
 breeding and exhibiting a bull-bitch at Cruft's Dog 
 show ! 
 
 Undershell (bitterly, to himself). And this is our 
 aristocracy ! They make a bosom friend of a breeder 
 of dogs ; and find a poet only fit to associate with 
 their servants ! What a theme for a satirist ! 
 {Aloud.) I see nothing to wonder at. You possess 
 precisely the social qualifications most likely to 
 appeal to the leisured class. 
 
 S;purrell. Oh, there's a lot of humbug in it, mind 
 you! Most of 'em know about as much of the 
 points of a bull as the points of a compass, only 
 they let on to know a lot because they think it's smart. 
 And some of 'em are after a pup from old Drummy's 
 next litter. / see through all that, you know ! 
 
 Undershell. You are a cynic, I observe, sir. But 
 possibly the nature of the business which brings you 
 here renders them
 
 156 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 SpurrcU. That's the rummest thing about it. I 
 haven't heard a word about that yet. I'm in the 
 veterinary profession, you know. Well, they sent 
 for me to see some blooming horse, and never even 
 ask me to go near it ! Seems odd, don't it ? 
 
 UndershcU (to himself). I had to go near the 
 blooming horse ! Now I begin to understand ; the 
 very servants did not expect to find a professional 
 vet in any company but their own ! {Aloud.) I — I 
 trust that the horse will not suffer through any delay. 
 
 Spurrell. So do I ; but how do I know that some 
 ignorant duffer mayn't be treating him for the wrong 
 thing ? It may be all up with the animal before I 
 get a chance of seeing what I can do ? 
 
 Undershell {to liimsdf). If he knew how near I 
 went to getting the poor beast shot ! But I needn't 
 mention that now. 
 
 Spurrell. I don't say it isn't gratifying to be 
 treated like a swell, but I've got my professional 
 reputation to consider, you know; and if they're 
 going to take up all my time talking about 
 Andromeda 
 
 Undershell (with a start). Andromeda! They 
 have been talking about Andromeda ? To you ! 
 Then it's you who 
 
 Spicrrell. Haven't I been telling you? I should
 
 TRAPPED ! 157 
 
 just jolly well think they have been talking about 
 her ! So you didn't know my bull's name was 
 Andromeda before, eh ? But you seem to have 
 heard of her, too ! 
 
 Undershell {slowly). I — I have heard of Andro- 
 meda — yes. \^He drops into a chair, dazed. 
 
 Spurrell (complacently). It's curious how that 
 bitch's fame seems to have spread. Why, even the 
 
 old Bishop But, I say, you're looking rather 
 
 queer ; anything the matter with you, old fellow ? 
 
 Undershell (faintly). Nothing — nothing. I — I 
 feel a little giddy, that's all. I shall be better 
 presently. \^Ife conceals his face. 
 
 Spurrell (in concern). It was having that basket 
 down on your head like that. Too bad ! Here, I'll 
 get you some water. (He hustles ahout.) 1 don't 
 know if you're aware of it, old chap, but you're in a 
 regular dooce of a mess ! 
 
 Undershell (motioning him away irritably). Do 
 you suppose I don't know that ? For Heaven's sake, 
 don't speak to me ! let me alone ! . . . I want to 
 think — I want to think. (To himself.) I see it all 
 now ! I've made a hideous mistake ! I thought 
 
 these Culverins were deliberately And all the 
 
 time Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I've been ! 
 
 . . . And I can't even explain ! . . , The only thing
 
 158 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the 
 truth. It's lucky I ordered that carriage ! {Aloud, 
 rising.) I'm all right now; and — and I can't stay- 
 here any longer. I am leaving directly — directly ! 
 
 Spurrell. You must give me time to get out of 
 this toggery, old chap ; you'U have to pick me out of 
 it like a lobster ! 
 
 Unclersliell {wildly). The clothes ? Never mind 
 them now. I can't wait. Keep them ! 
 
 Spurrell. Do you really mean it, old fellow ? If 
 you could spare 'em a bit longer, I'd be no end 
 obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady Ehoda 
 to come and finish a talk we were having, and 
 they've taken away my own things to brush, so I 
 haven't a rag to go down in except these ; and they'd 
 all think it so beastly rude if I went to bed now ! 
 
 Undershell {impatiently). I tell you you may keep 
 them, if you'll only go away ! 
 
 Spurrell. But where am I to send the things to 
 when I've done with 'em ? 
 
 Undershell. What do I Stay, here's my card. 
 
 Send them to that address. Now go and finish your 
 evening ! 
 
 Spurrell {gratefully). You are a rattling good chap, 
 and no mistake ! Though I'm hanged if I can quite 
 make out what you're doing here, you know !
 
 TRAPPED ! 159 
 
 Undershcll. It's not at all necessary that you 
 should make it out. I am leaving immediately, and 
 — and I don't wish Sir Eupert or Lady Culverin to 
 hear of this — you understand ? 
 
 Spurrell. Well, it's no business of mine; you've 
 behaved deviUsh well to me, and I'm not surprised 
 that you'd rather not be seen in the state you're in. 
 I shouldn't like it myseK ! 
 
 Undershell. State ? What state ? 
 
 Spurrell. Ah, I wondered whether you knew. 
 You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at 
 yourseK in the glass. I dare say it'll come off right 
 enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and 
 thanks awfully ! [E^e goes out. 
 
 Undershell (alone). What does he mean ? But 
 I've no time to waste. Where have they put my 
 portmanteau? I can't give up everything. {He 
 hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door 
 leading into a small dressing-room.) Ah, it's in 
 there. I'll get it out, and put my things in. {As he 
 rushes hack, he suddenly comes face to face with his 
 own reflection in a cheval glass.) Wh — who's that ? 
 Can this — this piebald horror possibly be — me? 
 
 How ? Ah, it was ink in that infernal basket 
 
 —not water ! And my hair's full of flour ! I cant 
 go into a hotel like this, they'd think I was an
 
 HE SITIPESLY COMES FACE TO FACE VflTH HIS OWN EEFLECTION.
 
 trapped! 161 
 
 ♦ 
 escaped lunatic! {Re Jlics to a ivash-hand stand, 
 
 and scruhs and sluices desperately, after which he 
 
 inspects the result in the mirror.) It's not nearly off 
 
 yet! Will anything get rid of this streakincss? 
 
 {He soaps and scrubs once more.) And the flour's 
 
 caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out 
 
 before I am fit to be seen. {He graducdly, after 
 
 infinite toil, succeeds in maldng himself slightly more 
 
 presentable.) Is the carriage waiting for me all this 
 
 time ? {He p)itchcs things into his portmanteau in a 
 
 frantic flurry.) What's that ? Some one's coming ! 
 
 \^He listens. 
 
 Tredwell {outside). It's my conviction you've been 
 telling me a pack o' lies, you young rascal. For 
 what hearthly business that feller Undershell could 
 
 'ave in the Verney However, /'ll soon see 
 
 how it is. {He knocks.) Is any one in 'ere ? 
 
 Undershell {to himself, distractedly). He mustn't 
 
 find me here! Yet, where Ah, it's the only 
 
 place ! 
 
 [iZe blows out the candles, and darts into the 
 dressing-room as Teedwell enters. 
 
 Tredwell. The boy's right. He is in here ; them 
 candles is smouldering still. {He relights one, and 
 looks under the led.) You'd better come out o' 
 that, Undershell, and give an account of yourself — 
 
 M
 
 1C2 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 do you 'ear me ? ... He ain't under there ! {Re 
 tries the dressing-room door ; Undeeshell liolds his 
 hreath, and clings desperately to the handle.) Very 
 yy-eW, sir, I know you're there, and I've no time to 
 trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay 
 where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your 
 goings-on from Mr. Adams, and I shall 'ave to fetch 
 Sir Eupert up to 'ave a talk with you by and bye. 
 
 \^He turns the key upon him, and goes. 
 Undershell {to himself, overwhelmed, as the hutler's 
 step is heard retreating.) And I came down here to 
 assert the dignity of Literature !
 
 ( 163 ) 
 
 TAET XVI 
 
 AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 
 
 In the Chinese Uraiving-room. Time — About 
 9.45 P.M. 
 
 Ifrs. EarioaJccr. Yes, dear Lady Lullington, I've 
 always insisted on each of my girls adopting a 
 distinct line of her own, and the result has been most 
 satisfactory. Louisa, my eldest, is literary ; she had 
 a little story accepted not long ago by The Milky 
 Way; then Maria is musical — practices regularly 
 three hours every day on her violin. Fanny has 
 become quite an expert in photography — kodaked 
 her father the other day in the act of trying a difficult 
 stroke at billiards ; a back view — but so clever and 
 characteristic ! 
 
 Lady Lullington (ahsently). A back view ? How 
 nice ! 
 
 Mrs. Eanvaker. He was the only one of the family 
 who didn't recognize it at once. Then my youngest
 
 164 LVllE AND LAN^CET 
 
 Caroliue — well, I must say that for a long time I was 
 quite in despair about Caroline. It really looked as 
 if there was no single thing that she had the slightest 
 bent or inclination for. So at last I thought she had 
 better take up religion, and make that her speciality. 
 
 Lady Lullington {langiddly). Eeligion ! How very 
 nice! 
 
 Mrs. Earwaher. Well, I got her a Christian Year 
 and a covered basket, and quantities of tracts, and so 
 on ; but, somehow, she didn't seem to get on with it. 
 So I let her give it up ; and now she's gone in for 
 poker-etching instead. 
 
 Lady Lullington (by an act of unconscious ccrc- 
 Iration). Poker-etching ! How very, very nice ! 
 
 [^Her eyelids close gently. 
 
 Lady Rhoda. Oh, but indeed, Lady Culverin, I 
 thought he was perfectly charmin' : not a bit booky, 
 you know, but as clever as he can stick ; knows more 
 about terriers than any man I ever met ! 
 
 Lady Culverin. So glad you found him agreeable, 
 my dear. I was half afraid he might strike you as 
 — well, just a little bit common in his way of talking. 
 
 Lady Rhoda. P'raps — but, after all, one can't 
 expect those sort of people to talk quite like we do 
 ourselves, can one ? 
 
 Lady Cantire. Is that Mr, Spurrell you are finding
 
 AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 165 
 
 fault with, Albinia ? It is curious that tjou should 
 
 be the one person here who I consider him a 
 
 very worthy and talented young man, and I shall 
 most certainly ask him to dinner — or lunch, at all 
 events — as soon as we return. I dare say Lady Ehoda 
 will not object to come and meet him. 
 
 Lady Blioda. Eather not. /'ll come, like a shot ! 
 
 Lady Culverin {to herself). I suppose it's very silly 
 of me to be so prejudiced. Nobody else seems to 
 mind him ! 
 
 Miss Spehvane {crossing over to them). Oh, Lady 
 Culverin, Lady Lullington has such a delightful idea 
 — she's just been saying how very, very nice it would 
 be if Mr. Spurrell could be persuaded to read some 
 of his poetry aloud to us presently. Da you think 
 it could be managed ? 
 
 Lady Culverin {in distress). Eeally, my dear 
 Vivien, I — I don't know what to say, I fancy people 
 would so nuieh rather talk — don't you think so, 
 Eohesia ? 
 
 Lady Cantire. Probably they w^ould, Albinia. It 
 is most unlikely that they would care to hear any- 
 thing more intellectual and instructive than the 
 sound of their own voices. 
 
 Miss Spelwane. I told Lady Lullington that I was 
 9,fraid you would think it a bore, Lady Cantire.
 
 1G6 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Lady Cantire. You are perfectly mistaken, Miss 
 Spelwane. I flatter myself I am quite as capable of 
 appreciating a literary privilege as anybody here. 
 But I cannot answer for its being so acceptable to 
 the majority. 
 
 Lady Culverin. No, it wouldn't do at all. And it 
 would be making this young man so much too 
 conspicuous. 
 
 Lady Cantire. You are talking nonsense, my dear. 
 When you are fortunate enough to secure a celebrity 
 at Wyvern, you can't make him too conspicuous. I 
 never knew that Laura Lullington had any taste for 
 literature before, but there's something to be said for 
 her suggestion — if it can be carried out ; it would at 
 least provide a welcome relief from the usual after- 
 dinner dullness of this sort of gathering. 
 
 Miss Spelicane. Then— would you ask him, Lady 
 
 Cantire ? 
 
 Lady Cantire. I, my dear 1 You forget that / 
 am not hostess here. ^ly sister-in-law is the proper 
 person to do that. 
 
 Lady Culverin. Indeed I coukhi't. But perhaps, 
 Vivien, if you liked to suggest it to him, he 
 
 might 
 
 Miss Spehvane. I'll try, dear Lady Culverin. And 
 if my poor little persuasions have no effect, I shall
 
 AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 167 
 
 fall back on Lady Cantire, and then he can't refuse. 
 I must go and tell dear Lady LulKngton — she'll be 
 so pleased! {To herself, as she shims away.) I 
 generally do get my own way. But I mean him to 
 do it to please Me ! 
 
 Lady Cantire {to herself). I must say that girl is 
 very much improved in manner since I last saw 
 anything of her. 
 
 Mrs. Chatteris {a little later, to Lady Maisie). 
 Have you heard what a treat is in store for us ? 
 That delightful Mr. Spurrell is going to give us a 
 reading or a recitation, or something, from his own 
 poems ; at least Miss Spelwane is to ask him as 
 soon as the men come in. Only / should have 
 thought that he would be much more likely to 
 consent if you asked him. 
 
 Lady Maisie. Would you ? I'm sure I don't know 
 why. 
 
 Mrs. Chatteris {archly). Oh, he took me in to 
 dinner, you know, and it's quite wonderful how 
 people confide in me, but I suppose they feel I can 
 be trusted. He mentioned a little fact, which gave 
 me the impression that a certain fair lady's wishes 
 would be supreme with him. 
 
 Lady Maisie {to herself). The wretch ! He has 
 been boasting of my unfortunate letter! {Aloud.)
 
 \C)S LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Mr. Spurrell had no business to give you any 
 impression of the kind. And the mere fact that I — 
 that I happened to admire his verses 
 
 Mrs. Chatteris. Exactly ! Poets' heads are so 
 easily turned ; and, as I said to Captain Thick- 
 nesse 
 
 Lady Maisie. Captain Thicknesse ! You have been 
 talking about it — to liim ! 
 
 Mrs. Chatteris. I'd no idea you would mind any- 
 body knowing, or I would never have dreamed of 
 
 I've such a perfect horror of gossip ! It took me so 
 much by surprise, that I simply couldn't resist. But 
 I can easily tell Captain Thicknesse it was all a 
 mistake; he knows how fearfully inaccurate I 
 always am. 
 
 Lady Maisie. I would rather you said nothing 
 more about it, please ; it is really not worth while 
 contradicting anything so utterly absurd. {To her- 
 self.) That Gerald — Captain Thicknesse — of all 
 people, should know of my letter ! And goodness 
 only knows what story she may have made out of it ! 
 
 Mrs. Chatteris (to herself, as she moves away). I've 
 been letting my tongue run away with me, as usual. 
 She's not the original of " Lady Grisoline," after all. 
 Perhaps he meant Vivien Spelwane — the description 
 was much more like her !
 
 AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 169 
 
 Pilliner (who has just entered tvith some of the younger 
 men, to Miss Spelwane). What are you doing with 
 these chairs ? Why are we all to sit in a circle, like 
 Moore and Burgess people ? You're not going to set 
 the poor dear Bishop down to play baby-games ? How 
 perfectly barbarous of you ! 
 
 Miss Spclivane. The chairs are being arranged for 
 something much more intellectual. We are going 
 to get Mr. Spurrell to read a poem to us, if you want 
 to know. I told you I should manage it. 
 
 Pilliner. There's only one drawback to that highly 
 desirable arrangement. The songster has unostenta- 
 tiously retired to roost. So I'm afraid you'll have 
 to do without your poetry this evening — that is, 
 unless you care to avail yourself again of my services ? 
 
 Miss Spelwane {indignantly). It is too mean of you. 
 You must have told him ! 
 
 \^He protests Ms innocence. 
 
 Lady PJioda. Archie, what's become of Mr. Spur- 
 rell ? I particularly want to ask him something. 
 
 Bearpark. The jDoet? He nipped upstairs — as I 
 told you all along he meant to — to scribble some of 
 his democratic drivel, and {with a suppressed grin) I 
 don't thinh you'll see him again this evening. 
 
 Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he enters). She's 
 keepin' a chair next hers in the comer there for
 
 170 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 somebody. Can it be for that poet chap ? . . . {Ee 
 meets Lady Maisie's eye suddenly.) Great Scott ! If 
 she means it for met . . . I've half a mind not 
 
 to No, I shaU be a fool if I lose such a chance ! 
 
 (Re crosses, and drops into the vacant chair next hers.) 
 I may sit here, mayn't I ? 
 
 Lady Maisie {simply). I meant you to. We used 
 to be such good friends; it's a pity to have mis- 
 understandings. And — and I want to ask you what 
 that silly little IVirs. Chatteris has been teUing you 
 at dinner about me. 
 
 CaiDtain Thichnesse. Well, she was sayin' — and I 
 must say I don't understand it, after your tellin' me 
 you knew nothing about this Mr. Spurrell tiU this 
 afternoon 
 
 Lady Maisie. But I don't. And I— I did offer to 
 explain, but you said you weren't curious ! 
 
 Captain Thichnesse. Didn't want you to tell me 
 anything that perhaps you'd rather not, don't you 
 know. StiU, I should like to know how this poet 
 chap came to write a poem aU about you, and call 
 it " Lady Grisoline," if he never 
 
 Lady Maisie. But it's too ridiculous ! How could 
 he ? When he never saw me, so far as I know, in 
 all his life before ! 
 
 Captain ThicJcnesse. He told Mrs. Chatteris you
 
 AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 171 
 
 were the original of his " Lady Grisoline " anyway, 
 and really 
 
 Lady Maisie. He dared to tell her that? How 
 disgracefully impertinent of him. (To herself.) So 
 long as he hasn't talked about my letter, he may say 
 what he pleases ! 
 
 Captain Thichnesse. But what was it you were goin' 
 to explain to me ? You said there was somethin* 
 
 Lady Maisie {to herself). It's no use ; I'd soonei 
 die than tell him about that letter now! {Aloud.) 
 I — I only wished you to understand that, whatever 
 I think about poetry — I detest poets ! 
 
 Lady Cantire. Yes, as you say. Bishop, a truly 
 Augustan mode of recreation. Still, Mr. Spurrell 
 doesn't seem to have come in yet, so I shall have 
 time to hear anything you have to say in defence of 
 your opposition to Parish Councils. 
 
 [^The Bishop resiyns himself to the inevitable. 
 
 Archie {in Pillinee's ear). Ink and flour — couldn't 
 possibly miss him ; the bard's got a matted head this 
 time, and no mistake. 
 
 Pilliner. Beastly bad form, / call it — with a fellow 
 you don't know. You'll get yourself into trouble 
 some day. And you couldn't even bring your own 
 ridiculous booby-trap off, for here the beggar comes, 
 as if nothing had happened.
 
 ii, 
 
 ^ 
 
 "INK AND FLOL'K— couldn't TO SHiLT MISS HI5|-
 
 AN tXtELLlLCtUAL tRIVILEGt] 1?3 
 
 Archie (disconcerted). Confound him ! The best 
 booby trap I ever made ! 
 
 The Bishop. My dear Lady Cantire, here is our 
 youthful poet, at the eleventh hour. {To himselj'.) 
 " Sic me servavit Apollo ! " 
 
 [IMiss Spelwane advances to meet Spueeell, 
 who stands surveying the array of chairs 
 in Uank bewilderment.
 
 l<4 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 PAET XVII 
 
 A BOMB SHELL 
 
 III a Gallery near the Verney Chamher. Time — Sctme 
 as that of the preceding Fart. . 
 
 Spurrell {to himself). I must say it's rather rough 
 luck on that poor devil. I get his dress suit, and all 
 he comes in for is my booby-trap! (Phillipson, 
 ivearing a holland blouse over her evening toilette, 
 approaches from the other end of the passage ; he does 
 not recognise her until the moment of collision.) Emma! ! 
 It's never you I How do you come to be here ? 
 
 Phillipson {to herself). Then it was my Jem after 
 all ! {Aloud, distantly.) I'm here in attendance on 
 Lady Maisie MuU, being her maid. If I was at all 
 curious — which I'm not — I might ask you what 
 you're doing in such a house as this ; and in evening 
 dress, if you please ! 
 
 Spurrell. I'm in evening dress, Emma, such as it 
 is (not that I've any right to find fault with it) ; but
 
 A BOMB SHELL 175 
 
 I'm m evening dress {loith dignitij) because I've been 
 included in the dinner party here. 
 
 Phillipson. You must have been getting on since 
 / knew you. Then you were studying to be a horse- 
 doctor. 
 
 Spurrell. I have got on. I am now a qualified 
 M.E.C.V.S. 
 
 Phillipson. And does that qualify you to dine with 
 bishops and countesses and baronets and the gentry, 
 like one of themselves ? 
 
 Spurrell. I don't say it does, in itself. It was my 
 Andromeda that did the trick, Emma. 
 
 Phillipson. Andromeda? They were talking of that 
 downstairs. What made you take to scribbling, James ? 
 
 Spurrell. Scribbling ? how do you mean ? My 
 handwriting's easy enough to read, as you ought to 
 know very well. 
 
 Phillipson. You can't expect me to remember what 
 your writing's like ; it's so long since I've seen it ! 
 
 Spurrell. Come, I like that ! When I wrote twice 
 to say I was sorry we'd fallen out ; and never got a 
 word back ! 
 
 Phillipson. If you'd written to the addresses I 
 gave you abroad 
 
 Spurrell. Then you did write; but none of the 
 letters reached me. I never even knew you'd gone
 
 176 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 abroad. I wrote to the old place. And so did you, 
 I suppose, not knowing I'd moved my lodgings too, 
 
 so naturally But what docs it all matter, so 
 
 long as we've met and it's all right between us ? 
 Oh, my dear girl, if you only knew how I worried 
 
 myself, thinking you were Well, all that's over 
 
 now, isn't it ? [He attempts to evibrace her. 
 
 Pliillijpson {repulsing him). Not quite so fast, 
 James. Before I say whether we're to be as we 
 were or not, I want to know a little more about you. 
 You wouldn't be here like this if you hadn't done 
 something to distinguish yourself. 
 
 Spurrell. Well, I don't say I mayn't have got a 
 certain amount of what they call " kudosh," owing to 
 Andromeda. But what difference does that make ? 
 
 Phillipson. Tell me, James, is it you that's been 
 writing a pink book all over silver cutlets ? 
 
 Spurrell. Me ? Write a book — about cutlets — or 
 anything else ! Emma, you don't suppose I've quite 
 come down to that ! Andromeda's the name of my 
 bull-dog. I took first prize with her; there were 
 portraits of both of us in one of the papers. And 
 the people here were very much taken with the dog, 
 and — and so they asked me to dine with them 
 That's how it was. 
 
 Philliptson. I should have thought, if they asked one 
 of you to dine, it ought to have been the bull-dog.
 
 A BOMB SHELL 177 
 
 Spvrrell. Now what's the good of saying extrava- 
 gant things of that sort? Not that old Drummy 
 couldn't be trusted to behave anywhere ! 
 
 Phillipso7i. Better than her master, I dare say. / 
 heard of your goings on with some Lady Ehoda or 
 other ! 
 
 Spurrell. Oh, the girl I sat next to at dinner ? Nice 
 chatty sort of girl ; seems fond of quadrupeds 
 
 Phillipson. Especially two-legged ones ! You see, 
 I've been told all about it ! 
 
 Spurrell. I assure you, I didn't go a step beyond 
 the most ordinary civility. You're not going to be 
 jealous because I promised I'd give her a liniment 
 for one of her dogs, are you ? 
 
 Phillipson. Liniment! You always icere a flirt, 
 James! But I'm not jealous. I've met a very 
 nice-spoken young man while I've been here ; he sat 
 next to me at supper, and paid me the most beautiful 
 compliments, and was most polite and attentive — 
 though he hasn't got as far as liniment, at present. 
 
 Spurrell. But, Emma, you're not going to take 
 up with some other fellow just when we've come 
 together again ? 
 
 Pliillipson. If you call it " coming together," when 
 I'm down in the housekeeper's room, and you're up 
 above, carrying on with ladies of title ! 
 
 N
 
 178 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Spurrell. Do you want to drive me frantic ? As 
 if I could help being where I am ! How could I 
 know you were here ? 
 
 Pliillipson. At all events, you know now, James. 
 And it's for you to choose between your smart lady 
 friends and me. If you're fit company for them, 
 you're too grand for one of their maids. 
 
 Spurrell. My dear girl, don't be unreasonable! 
 I'm expected back in the drawing-room, and I cant 
 throw 'em over now all of a sudden without giving; 
 offence. There's the interests of the firm to con- 
 sider, and it's not for me to take a lower place than 
 I'm given. But it's only for a night or two, and 
 you don't really suppose I wouldn't rather be where 
 you are if I was free to choose — but I'm not, Emma, 
 that's the worst of it ! 
 
 Phillipson. Well, go back to the drawing-room, 
 then ; don't keep Lady Ehoda waiting for her lini- 
 ment on my account. I ought to be in my ladies' 
 rooms by this time. Only don't be surprised if, when- 
 ever you are free to choose, you find you've come back 
 just too late — that's aU ! [She turns to leave him. 
 
 Spurrell {detaining her). Emma, I won't let you 
 go like this! Not before you've told me where I 
 can meet you again here. 
 
 Phillipson. There's no place that I know of^
 
 A BOMB SHELL 179 
 
 except the housekeeper's room ; and of course you 
 couldn't descend so low as that. . . . James, there's 
 somebody coming ! Let go my hand — do you want 
 to lose me my character ! 
 
 [Steps and voices are heard at the other end of 
 
 the passage ; she frees herself, and escapes. 
 
 Spicrrell (attempting to follow). But, Emma, stop 
 
 one She's gone ! . . . Confound it, there's the 
 
 butler and a page-boy coming ! It's no use staying 
 up here any longer. (To himself, as he goes down- 
 stairs.) It's downright torture — that's what it is! 
 To be tied by the leg in the drawing-room, doing the 
 civil to a lot of girls I don't care a blow about ; and 
 to know that all the time some blarneying beggar 
 downstairs is doing his best to rob me of my Emma ! 
 Flesh and blood can't stand it ; and yet I'm blest if 
 I see any way out of it without offending 'em all 
 round. [He enters the Chinese Drawing-room. 
 
 In the Chinese Drawing-room. 
 
 Miss Spelwane. At last, Mx. Spurrell ! We began 
 to think you meant to keep away altogether. Has 
 anybody told you why you've been waited for so 
 impatiently ? 
 
 Spurrell (looking round the circle of chairs appre- 
 hensively). No. Is it family prayers, or what ? Er 
 — are they over ?
 
 180 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 Miss Spchuane. No, no; nothing of that sort. 
 Can't you guess? Mr. Spurrell, I'm going to be 
 very bold, and ask a great, great favour of you. I 
 don't know why they chose me to represent them ; I 
 told Lady Lullington I was afraid my entreaties 
 would have no weight ; but if you only would 
 
 Spurrell {to himself). They're at it again ! How 
 many more of 'em want a pup ! {Aloud.) Sorry to 
 be disobliging, but 
 
 Miss Spehvane {joining her hands in supplication). 
 Not if I implore you ? Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I've quite 
 set my heart on hearing you read aloud to us. Are 
 you really cruel enough to refuse ? 
 
 Spurrell. Bead aloud ! Is that what you want 
 me to do ? But I'm no particular hand at it. I don't 
 know that I've ever read aloud — except a bit out of 
 the paper now and then — since I was a boy at school ! 
 
 Lady Cantire. JVJiat's that I hear ? Mr. Spurrell 
 professing incapacity to read aloud ? Sheer affecta- 
 tion ! Come, Mr. Spurrell, I am much mistaken if 
 you are wanting in the power to thrill aU hearts 
 here. Think of us as instruments ready to respond 
 to your touch. Play upon us as you will ; but don't 
 be so imgracious as to raise any further obstacles. 
 
 Spurrell {resignedly). Oh, very well, if I'm required 
 to read, I'm agreeable. [^Murmurs of satisfaction. 
 
 Lady Cantire. Hush, please, everybody ! Mr.
 
 A BOMB SHELL 181 
 
 Spurrell is going to read. My dear Bishop, if you 
 
 wouldn't mind just Lord Lullington, can you 
 
 hear where you are ? Where are you going to sit, Mr. 
 Spurrell ? In the centre will be best. Will somebody 
 move that lamp a little, so as to give him more light ? 
 
 Spurrell {to himself, as he sits down). I wonder 
 what we're supposed to be playing at! (Aloud.) 
 Well, what am I to read, eh ? 
 
 3liss Spchoane (placing an ojjen copy of "Andro- 
 meda " in his hands with a charming air of deferential 
 dictation). You might begin with this — such a dear 
 little piece ! I'm dying to hear you read it ! 
 
 Spurrell (as he taJccs the hook). I'll do the best I 
 can ! (ITe looks at the page in dismay.) Why, look 
 here, it's poetry ! 1 didn't bargain for that. Poetry's 
 altogether out of my line! (Miss Spelwane opens 
 her eyes to their fullest extent, and retires a few paces 
 from him ; he begins to read in a perfunctory mono- 
 tone, ivith deepening heioildermcnt and disgust — 
 
 "THE SICK KXIGHT. 
 
 Keacli me the helmet from yonder rack, 
 
 3Iistress o' mine ! tcith Us plume of white : 
 Now help me upon my destrier's back, 
 
 Mistress o' mine! though he swerve in fright. 
 And guide my foot to the stirrup-ledge, 
 
 Mistress o' mine .' it eludes me still. 
 Then fill me a cup as a farewell pledge, 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! for the night air^s chill I
 
 ■XOC MIGHT BEGIK WITH TUIS-SLCH A DEAU LITTLE PIECE,
 
 A BOMB SHELL 183 
 
 Haste I with the buckler and pennon'd lance, 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! or ever I feel 
 My war-horse plunge in impatient prance, 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! at the prick of heel. 
 Pay scant heed to my pallid hue, 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! for the wan moorCs sheen 
 Doth blazon the gules o' my cheek with blue, 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! or glamour it green. 
 One last long kiss, ere I seek the fray . . . 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! though I quit my sell, 
 I would meet the foe i' the mad mel^e. 
 
 Mistress o' mine ! an' I loere hut well ! " 
 
 (After the murmur of conventional appreciation has 
 died away) Well, of course, I don't set up for a 
 judge of such things myself, but I must say, if I was 
 asked my opinion — of all the downright tommy-rot 
 
 I ever {The company look at one another with 
 
 raised eyebrows and dropped underlips ; he turns over 
 the leaves hackioards until he arrives at the title-page.) 
 I say, though, I do call this rather rum ! Who the 
 dickens is Clarion Blair ? Because / never heard of 
 him — and yet it seems he's been writing poetry on 
 my bull-dog ! 
 
 Miss Spelwane {faintly). Writing poetry — about 
 your bull-dog ! 
 
 Spurrell. Yes, the one you've all been praising up 
 so. If it isn't meant for her, it's what you might call 
 a most surprising coincidence, for here's the old dog's 
 name as plain as it can be — Andromeda ! [Tableaic.
 
 184 LYRE AND LANCET 
 
 PAET XVIII 
 
 THE LAST STKAW 
 
 Afkr Spurrell's ingenuous comments, mpon the 
 volume in Ids hand, a painful silenee ensues, 
 ivhich no one has sufficient presence of mind to 
 hreahfor several seconds. 
 
 Miss Bpchvane {to herself). Not Clarion Blair! 
 Not even a poet ! I — I could slap him ! 
 
 Pilliner (to himself). Poor dear Vivien ! But if 
 people will insist on patting a strange poet, they 
 mustn't be surprised if they get a nasty bite ! 
 
 Zad>/ 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. 
 
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