Lyre and Lancet Part 8

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_choking_). Not mind that! Take me to her at once!

_Tredwell._ Couldn't take it on myself, sir, really. There's no particular 'urry. I'll let her ladys.h.i.+p 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.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ Oh, then whenever her ladys.h.i.+p 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. Undersh.e.l.l, you aren't so pressed as all _that_, are you? I know my lady wouldn't like you to go without seeing you personally; no more wouldn't Sir Rupert. And I understood you was coming down for the Sunday!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_furious_). So did _I_--but not to be treated like this!

_Tredwell_ (_soothingly_). Why, _you_ know what ladies are. And you couldn't see Deerfoot--not properly, to-night, either.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ I have seen enough of this place already. I intend to go back by the next train, I tell you.

_Tredwell._ 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 horders 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.

[_He goes, leaving_ UNDERSh.e.l.l _speechless_.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_almost foaming_). The insolence of these cursed aristocrats! Lady Culverin will see me when she has time, forsooth! I am to be entertained in the servants' hall! _This_ is how our upper cla.s.ses honour Poetry! I won't stay a single hour under their infernal roof. I'll walk. But where _to_? And how about my luggage?

[PHILLIPSON _returns_.

_Phillipson._ Mr. Tredwell says you want to go already! It _can't_ be true! Without even waiting for supper?

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_gloomily_). Why should I wait for supper in this house?

_Phillipson._ Well, _I_ shall be there; I don't know if _that's_ any inducement.

[_She looks down._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). She is a singularly bewitching 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--(_with 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 flits away._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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!

PART VII

IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO

_The Amber Boudoir at Wyvern immediately after_ Lady CANTIRE _and her daughter have entered_.

_Lady Cantire_ (_in reply 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 Rupert 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_ TREDWELL _announces_ SPURRELL, _who enters in trepidation_.) 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 rea.s.suring.

_Lady Culverin_ (_a trifle nervous_). How do you do, Mr.--ah--Spurrell? (_To herself._) I _said_ he ended in "ell"!

(_Aloud._) So pleased to see you! We think so much of your _Andromeda_ here, you know. Quite delightful of you to find time to run down!

_Spurrell_ (_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 _rea.s.sured_. (_Aloud, with a touch of frost._) I am sure we must consider ourselves most fortunate.

(_Turning to the Countess._) You _did_ say cream, Rohesia? Sugar, Maisie dearest?

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I'm all right up to now! I suppose I'd better say nothing about the horse till _they_ do. I feel rather out of it among these n.o.bs, 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 approaches her._) Well, Lady Maisie, here I _am_, you see. I'd really no idea your aunt would be so friendly! I say, you know, you don't mind _speaking_ 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!

_Lady Maisie_ (_colouring with mingled apprehension, vexation, and pity_). If I can be of any help to you, Mr. Spurrell----!

_Spurrell._ 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 _can't_ make any mistakes.

_Spurrell_ (_anxiously_). And you don't think anybody'll 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 self-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 _appallingly_ 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!

_Pilliner_ (_to_ Miss SPELWANE). Is _that_ the poet? Why, but I say--he's a _fraud_! Where's his matted 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 Spelwane._ 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! Forgotten 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; don't signify to her if they _are_ bounders, I suppose. _I_'m not intellectual. Gad, I wish I'd gone back to Aldershot!

_Lady Cantire_ (_by the tea-table_). 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, tell 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, _I_ 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 his only son so terribly. Of course it will make a great difference--in many ways.