Lyre and Lancet Part 4

_In a First-cla.s.s Compartment._

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Formidable old party opposite me in the furs! Nice-looking girl over in the corner; not a patch on my Emma, though! Wonder why I catch 'em sampling me over their papers whenever I look up! Can't be anything wrong with my turn out. Why, of course, they heard Tom talk about my going down to Wyvern Court; think I'm a visitor there and no end of a duke! Well, what sn.o.bs some people are, to be sure!

_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). So this is the young poet I made Albinia ask to meet me. I can't be mistaken, I distinctly heard his friend mention _Andromeda_. H'm, well, it's a comfort to find he's _clean_! Have I read his poetry or not? I know I _had_ the book, because I distinctly remember telling Maisie she wasn't to read it--but--well, that's of no consequence. He looks clever and quite respectable--not in the least picturesque--which is fortunate. I was beginning to doubt whether it was quite prudent to bring Maisie; but I needn't have worried myself.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). Here, actually in the same carriage!

Does he guess who _I_ am? Somehow---- Well, he certainly _is_ different from what I expected. I thought he would show more signs of having thought and suffered; for he _must_ have suffered to write as he does.

If mamma knew I had read his poems; that I had actually written to beg him not to refuse Aunt Albinia's invitation! He never wrote back. Of course I didn't put any address; but still, he could have found out from the Red Book if he'd cared. I'm rather glad now he _didn't_ care.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Old girl seems as if she meant to be sociable; better give her an opening. (_Aloud._) Hem! would you like the window down an inch or two?

_Lady Cantire._ Not on _my_ account, thank you.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Broke the ice, anyway. (_Aloud._) Oh, _I_ don't want it down, but some people have such a mania for fresh air.

_Lady Cantire_ (_with a dignified little s.h.i.+ver_). Have they? With a temperature as glacial as it is in here! They must be maniacs indeed!

_Spurrell._ Well, it _is_ chilly; been raw all day. (_To himself._) She don't answer. I _haven't_ broken the ice.

[_He produces a memorandum book._

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). He hasn't said anything _very_ original yet. So _nice_ of him not to pose! Oh, he's got a note-book; he's going to compose a poem. How interesting!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE'S GOING TO COMPOSE A POEM. HOW INTERESTING!"]

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Yes, I'm all right if Heliograph wins the Lincolns.h.i.+re Handicap; lucky to get on at the price I did. Wonder what's the latest about the City and Suburban? Let's see whether the Pink Un has anything about it.

[_He refers to the Sporting Times._

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). The inspiration's stopped--_what_ a pity! How odd of him to read the _Globe_! I thought he was a Democrat!

_Lady Cantire._ Maisie, there's quite a clever little notice in _Society Snippets_ about the dance at Skympings last week. I'm sure I wonder how they pick up these things; it quite bears out what I was told; says the supper arrangements were "simply disgraceful; not nearly enough champagne; and what there was, undrinkable!" So _like_ poor dear Lady Chesepare; never _does_ do things like anybody else.

I'm sure _I've_ given her hints enough!

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, with a suppressed grin_). Wants to let me see _she_ knows some swells. Now _ain't_ that paltry?

_Lady Cantire_ (_tendering the paper_). Would you like to see it, Maisie? Just this bit here; where my finger is.

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself, flus.h.i.+ng_). I saw him smile. What _must_ he think of us, with his splendid scorn for rank? (_Aloud._) No, thank you, mamma: such a wretched light to read by!

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Chance for _me_ to cut in! (_Aloud._) Beastly light, isn't it? 'Pon my word, the company ought to provide us with a dog and string apiece when we get out!

_Lady Cantire_ (_bringing a pair of long-handled gla.s.ses to bear upon him_). I happen to hold shares in this line. May I ask _why_ you consider a provision of dogs and string at all the stations a necessary or desirable expenditure?

_Spurrell._ Oh--er--well, you know, I only meant, bring on _blindness_ and that. Harmless attempt at a joke, that's all.

_Lady Cantire._ I see. I scarcely expected that _you_ would condescend to such weakness. I--ah--think you are going down to stay at Wyvern for a few days, are you not?

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I was right. What Tom said _did_ fetch the old girl; no harm in humouring her a bit. (_Aloud._) Yes--oh yes, they--aw--wanted me to run down when I could.

_Lady Cantire._ I heard they were expecting you. You will find Wyvern a pleasant house--for a short visit.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). _She_ heard! Oh, she wants to kid me she knows the Culverins. Rats! (_Aloud._) Shall I, though? I dare say.

_Lady Cantire._ Lady Culverin is a very sweet woman; a little limited, perhaps, not intellectual, or quite what one would call the _grande dame_; but perhaps _that_ could scarcely be expected.

_Spurrell_ (_vaguely_). Oh, of course not--no. (_To himself._) If she bluffs, so can I! (_Aloud._) It's funny your turning out to be an acquaintance of Lady C.'s, though.

_Lady Cantire._ You think so? But I should hardly call myself an _acquaintance_.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Old cat's trying to back out of it now; she shan't, though! (_Aloud._) Oh, then I suppose you know Sir Rupert best?

_Lady Cantire._ Yes, I certainly know Sir Rupert better.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Oh, you do, do you? We'll see. (_Aloud._) Nice cheery old chap, Sir Rupert, isn't he? I must tell him I travelled down in the same carriage with a particular friend of his.

(_To himself._) That'll make her sit up!

_Lady Cantire._ Oh, then you and my brother Rupert have met already?

_Spurrell_ (_aghast_). Your brother! Sir Rupert Culverin your----!

Excuse me--if I'd only known, I--I do a.s.sure you I never should have dreamt of saying----!

_Lady Cantire_ (_graciously_). You've said nothing whatever to distress yourself about. You couldn't possibly be expected to know who I was. Perhaps I had better tell you at once that I am Lady Cantire, and this is my daughter, Lady Maisie Mull. (SPURRELL _returns_ Lady MAISIE'S _little bow in the deepest confusion_.) We are going down to Wyvern too, so I hope we shall very soon become better acquainted.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, overwhelmed_). The deuce we shall! I _have_ got myself into a hole this time; I wish I could see my way well out of it! Why on earth couldn't I hold my confounded tongue? I _shall_ look an a.s.s when I tell 'em.

[_He sits staring at them in silent embarra.s.sment._

_In a Second-cla.s.s Compartment._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). Singularly attractive face this girl has; so piquant and so refined! I can't help fancying she is studying me under her eyelashes. She has remarkably bright eyes. Can she be interested in me? Does she expect me to talk to her? There are only she and I--but no, just now I would rather be alone with my thoughts.

This Maisie Mull whom I shall meet so soon; what is _she_ like, I wonder? I presume she is unmarried. If I may judge from her artless little letter, she is young and enthusiastic, and she is a pa.s.sionate admirer of my verse; she is longing to meet me. I suppose some men's vanity would be flattered by a tribute like that. I think I must have none; for it leaves me strangely cold. I did not even reply; it struck me that it would be difficult to do so with any dignity, and she didn't tell me where to write to.... After all, how do I know that this will not end--like everything else--in disillusion? Will not such crude girlish adoration pall upon me in time? If she were exceptionally lovely; or say, even as charming as this fair fellow-pa.s.senger of mine--why then, to be sure--but no, something warns me that that is not to be. I shall find her plain, sandy, freckled; she will render me ridiculous by her undiscriminating gush.... Yes, I feel my heart sink more and more at the prospect of this visit. Ah me!

[_He sighs heavily._

_His Fellow Pa.s.senger_ (_to herself_). It's too silly to be sitting here like a pair of images, considering that---- (_Aloud._) I hope you aren't feeling unwell?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ Thank you, no, not unwell. I was merely thinking.

_His Fellow Pa.s.senger._ You don't seem very cheerful over it, I must say. I've no wish to be inquisitive, but perhaps you're feeling a little low-spirited about the place you're going to?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ I--I must confess I am rather dreading the prospect. How wonderful that you should have guessed it!

_His Fellow Pa.s.senger._ Oh, I've been through it myself. I'm just the same when _I_ go down to a new place; feel a sort of sinking, you know, as if the people were sure to be disagreeable, and I should never get on with them.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ _Exactly_ my own sensations! If I could only be sure of finding _one_ kindred spirit, one soul who would help and understand me. But I daren't let myself hope even for that!