Lyre and Lancet Part 11

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_alone, surveying the surroundings_). A c.o.c.kloft, 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 pa.s.s 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 all over the walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with blazing logs,--if this is 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 pair of candles._) Hullo! What's that on the bed? (_He approaches it._) s.h.i.+rt! white tie! socks! coat, waistcoat, trousers--they _are_ dress clothes!... And here's a pair of brushes on the table! I'll swear they're not _mine_--there's a monogram on them--"U.G." What does it all mean? Why, of course! regular old trump, Sir Rupert, 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 s.h.i.+rt's 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; gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sable. And now I'll go down to the drawing-room and get on terms with all the smarties!

[_He saunters out with restored complacency._

PART IX

THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE

_In the Chinese Drawing-room at Wyvern._ TIME--7.50. Lady CULVERIN _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 CULVERIN _surrenders it_.) My dear, you're _not_ going to inflict that mincing little Pilliner boy on poor Maisie! That really _won't 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_?

_Lady Culverin._ I thought she wouldn't mind putting up with him just for one evening.

_Lady 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 entertain? _Really_, Albinia!

_Lady Culverin._ But, my dear Rohesia, you must allow that, whatever his talents may be, he is not--well, not _quite_ one of Us. Now, _is_ he?

_Lady Cantire_ (_blandly_). 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 Culverin_ (_with some increase of colour_). That is _not_ what I meant, Rohesia--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!

_Lady Cantire_ (_sharply_). I have not observed it. He strikes me as well enough--for that cla.s.s of person. And it is intellect, soul, all that kind of thing that _I_ value. I look _below_ 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 a.s.sociate with him, _you_ need not be so fastidious! I consider him my _protege_, and I won't have him slighted. He is far too good for Vivien Spelwane!

_Lady Culverin_ (_with just a suspicion of malice_). Perhaps, Rohesia, 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 Culverin._ I really don't know whom I _can_ give Mr. Spurrell.

There's Rhoda c.o.kayne, 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. _Now_ you can give Rupert the list.

[Sir RUPERT _and various members of the house-party appear one by one_; Lord _and_ Lady LULLINGTON, _the_ Bishop of BIRCHESTER _and_ Mrs. RODNEY, Mr. _and_ Mrs. EARWAKER, _and_ Mr. SHORTHORN _are announced at intervals; salutations, recognitions, and commonplaces are exchanged_.

_Lady Cantire_ (_later--to the_ Bishop, _genially_). 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 cla.s.ses--for whom of course they were originally _intended_--or 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 unfortunately on so many subjects. I trust, however, we may--ah--agree to suspend hostilities on this occasion?

_Lady Cantire_ (_with even more bonhomie_). 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 himself._) This must be the penance for breaking my rule of never dining out on Sat.u.r.day! Severe--but not unmerited!

_Lady Cantire._ I wonder, Bishop, if you have seen this wonderful volume of poetry that every one is talking about--_Andromeda_?

_The Bishop_ (_conscientiously_). I chanced only this 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 pa.s.sages 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 convinced that if you only knew him, you'd alter your opinion. Such an una.s.suming, inoffensive creature! There, he's just come in. I'll call him over here.... Goodness, why does he shuffle along in that way!

_Spurrell_ (_meeting_ Sir RUPERT). Hope I've kept n.o.body waiting for _me_, Sir Rupert. (_Confidentially._) I'd rather a job to get these things on; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering!

[_He pa.s.ses on, leaving his host speechless._

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'D RATHER A JOB TO GET THESE THINGS ON; BUT THEY'RE REALLY A WONDERFUL FIT, CONSIDERING!"]

_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, overawed_). Oh, Lor! Wish I knew the right way to talk to a Bishop. Can't call _him_ nothing--so doosid familiar.

(_Aloud._) _Andromeda_ sickly, your--(_tentatively_)--your Right Reverence? 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._ I 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 d.i.c.ky about the setting and the turn of the tail, but that's a trifle.

_The 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 himself, as he turns on his heel._) A most arrogant, self-satisfied, and conceited young man--a truly lamentable 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 const.i.tution worth a dozen of _his_!

_Lady Culverin_ (_approaching him_). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, Lord 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_ Rohesia wouldn't force me to do this sort of thing!

[_She presents him._

_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! 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----

_Lord Lullington_ (_paternally_). Take my advice, my dear young man, leave yourself as free as possible. Expect you to give us your best, you know.

[_He turns to continue a conversation._