PART XVI

AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE

_In the Chinese Drawing-room._ TIME--_About_ 9.45 P.M.

_Mrs. Earwaker._ 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_ (_absently_). A back view? How _nice_!

_Mrs. Earwaker._ He was the only one of the family who didn't recognize it at once. Then my youngest Caroline--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_ (_languidly_). Religion! How _very_ nice!

_Mrs. Earwaker._ 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 cerebration_). 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 fault with, Albinia? It is curious that _you_ 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 Rhoda will not object to come and meet him.

_Lady Rhoda._ Rather not. _I_'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 Spelwane_ (_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. _Do_ you think it could be managed?

_Lady Culverin_ (_in distress_). Really, my dear Vivien, I--I don't know _what_ to say. I fancy people would so _much_ rather talk--don't you think so, Rohesia?

_Lady Cantire._ Probably they would, Albinia. It is most unlikely that they would care to hear anything more intellectual and instructive than the sound of their own voices.

_Miss Spelwane._ I _told_ Lady Lullington that I was afraid you would think it a bore, Lady Cantire.

_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 Spelwane._ Then--would _you_ ask him, Lady Cantire?

_Lady Cantire._ I, my dear? You forget that _I_ am not hostess here. My sister-in-law is the proper person to do that.

_Lady Culverin._ Indeed I couldn't. But perhaps, Vivien, if you liked to suggest it to him, he might----

_Miss Spelwane._ I'll try, dear Lady Culverin. And if my poor little persuasions have no effect, I shall fall back on Lady Cantire, and then he _can't_ refuse. I must go and tell dear Lady Lullington--she'll be so pleased! (_To herself, as she skims 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 _I_ 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._) 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 Thicknesse----

_Lady Maisie._ Captain Thicknesse! You have been talking about it--to _him_!

_Mrs. Chatteris._ I'd no idea you would mind anybody 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 herself._) 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_!

_Pilliner_ (_who has just entered with 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 Spelwane._ 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 unostentatiously 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 his innocence._

_Lady Rhoda._ Archie, what's become of Mr. Spurrell? I particularly want to ask him something.

_Bearpark._ The poet? 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 _think_ you'll see him again this evening.

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself, as he enters_). She's keepin' a chair next hers in the corner there for somebody. Can it be for that poet chap?... (_He meets_ Lady MAISIE'S _eye suddenly_.) Great Scott! If she means it for _me_!... I've half a mind not to---- No, I shall be a fool if I lose such a chance! (_He 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 misunderstandings. And--and I want to ask you what that silly little Mrs. Chatteris has been telling you at dinner about me.

_Captain Thicknesse._ Well, she was sayin'--and I must say I don't understand it, after your tellin' me you knew nothing about this Mr. Spurrell till this afternoon----

_Lady Maisie._ But I don't. And I--I _did_ offer to explain, but you said you weren't curious!

_Captain Thicknesse._ Didn't want you to tell me anything that perhaps you'd rather not, don't you know. Still, I _should_ like to know how this poet chap came to write a poem all 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 Thicknesse._ He told Mrs. Chatteris you 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 Thicknesse._ 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 sooner 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 _resigns himself to the inevitable_.

_Archie_ (_in_ PILLINER'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, _I_ 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.

_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 himself._) "_Sic me servavit_ Apollo!"

[Miss SPELWANE _advances to meet_ SPURRELL, _who stands surveying the array of chairs in blank bewilderment_.