Lyre and Lancet Part 27

_Lady Maisie._ I was not thinking about his looks, Rhoda--it's his _conduct_ that's so splendid.

_Lady Rhoda._ 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 n.o.bly and generously as he did.

_Lady Rhoda._ 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 pa.s.sing 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.

_Lady Rhoda_ (_yawning_). If he saw all that, why didn't he _do_ it?

_Lady Maisie_ (_indignantly_). Why? How provoking you can be, Rhoda!

_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 _can't_!

_Lady Rhoda_ (_after a low whistle_). No idea it had gone so far as that--already! _Now_ 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_ (_flus.h.i.+ng_). Now, Rhoda, 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 _dreadfully_ it hurt to think it was only Mr. Spurrell after all!... But _now_--oh, the _relief_ of finding they're not spoilt; that I can still admire, still look up to the man who wrote them! Not to have to feel that he is quite commonplace--not even a gentleman--in the ordinary sense!

_Lady Rhoda_ (_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 I 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 _before_!

PART XXI

THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER.

_In the Morning Room._ TIME--_Sunday morning; just after breakfast._

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_outside, to_ TREDWELL). Dogcart round, eh?

everything in? All right--shan't be a minute. (_Entering._) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here? (_He looks round disconcertedly._) 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 _don't_ want to.

_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 ventilated 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 d.a.m.ned offensive.

_Captain Thicknesse._ Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude _I_ thought it!

_Pilliner._ Don't think anyone _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, considering. Pity Lady Cantire breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady Maisie.

_Captain Thicknesse._ 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 Elizabethan 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 Thicknesse._ 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 _I_ 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.

_Pilliner_ (_to himself after_ Captain THICKNESSE _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.

[_He disappears hastily in the direction of the Smoking-room as_ Lady CANTIRE and Mrs. CHATTERIS _enter_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'LL BE OFF, OR THEY'LL NAIL ME FOR CHURCH BEFORE I KNOW IT."]

_Lady Cantire._ Nonsense, my dear, no walk at all; the church is only just across the park. My brother Rupert 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 pa.s.s 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_!

_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._ Really? 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.

_Lady 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 Rupert_ (_outside_). We're rather proud of our church, Mr.

Undersh.e.l.l--fine old monuments and bra.s.ses, if you care about that sort of thing. Some of us will be walking over to service presently, if you would like to----

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_outside--to himself_). And lose my _tete-a-tete_ with Lady Maisie! Not exactly! (_Aloud._) I am afraid, Sir Rupert, that I cannot conscientiously----

_Sir Rupert_ (_hastily_). Oh, very well, very well; do exactly as you like about it, of course. I only thought---- (_To himself._) Now, that _other_ young chap would have gone!