Lyre and Lancet Part 26

_Pilliner._ Oh, I only asked, because the other man said he was wearing your things.

_Sir Rupert_ (_as_ UNDERSh.e.l.l _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?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ 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 a.s.suming _that_!

_Pilliner_ (_to himself_). a.s.s I was not to hold my tongue!

_Lady Maisie_ (_in an undertone, to_ Captain THICKNESSE). 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_ UNDERSh.e.l.l.) Good night, Mr. Blair, I'm so very glad we have met--at last!

[_She goes._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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--_now_. 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!

PART XX

DIFFERENT PERSONS HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS

LADY MAISIE'S _Room at Wyvern_. TIME--_Sat.u.r.day night, about_ 11.30.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to_ PHILLIPSON, _who is brus.h.i.+ng her hair_). You are _sure_ mamma 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 ladys.h.i.+p seems a little upset in her nerves this evening.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). _Il-y-a de quoi!_ (_Aloud, relieved._) It might only disturb her, certainly.... I hope they are making you comfortable here, Phillipson?

_Phillipson._ 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!

_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 _I_ 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_ (_with 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?

_Phillipson._ If _he_'s found new friends, my lady, I consider myself free to act similarly.

_Lady Maisie._ 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 housekeeper's room on purpose.

_Phillipson_ (_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 downstairs---- He always _was_ given to jealousy--reason or none!

[_A tap is heard at the door._

_Lady Rhoda_ (_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.

_Lady Maisie._ Don't run away, Rhoda; my maid has just done. You can go now, Phillipson.

_Lady Rhoda_ (_to herself, as she sits down_). Phillipson! 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 Rhoda, 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!

[_She goes. A pause._

_Lady Rhoda_ (_crossing her feet on the fender_). Well, we can't complain of havin' had a dull evenin', _can_ we?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WELL, WE CAN'T COMPLAIN OF HAVIN' HAD A DULL EVENIN', CAN WE?"]

_Lady Maisie_ (_taking a hand-screen from the mantelshelf_). Not altogether. Has--anything fresh happened since I left?

_Lady Rhoda._ Nothing particular. Archie apologised to this new man in the billiard-room. For the b.o.o.by trap. We all told him he'd _got_ to.

And Mr. Carrion Bear, or Blundersh.e.l.l, or whatever he calls himself--_you_ know--was so awf'lly 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_, Rhoda?

_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 _feeble_ of him missin' his train like he did, and turnin' up too late for everything! Now, _wasn't_ it?

_Lady Maisie._ Poets _are_ dreamy and unpractical and unpunctual--it's their nature.

_Lady Rhoda._ 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 somebody else on the smallest provocation after this. I _know_ 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, Rhoda. Not his--_ours_. Mine and mamma's. We ought to have felt from the first that there _must_ be some mistake, that poor Mr. Spurrell couldn't _possibly_ be a poet! I don't know, though--people generally _are_ unlike what you'd expect 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!

_Lady Rhoda._ I _say_! Do you call him as good-lookin' as all _that_?