LYRE AND LANCET.
(A Story in Scenes.)
PART IX.—THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE.
Scene XVI.—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's 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 Cant. 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 Culv. 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 Cant. (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 Culv. (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 Cant. (sharply). I have not observed it. He strikes me as well enough—for that class 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 associate with him, you need not be so fastidious! I consider him my protégé, and I won't have him slighted. He is far too good for Vivien Spelwane!
Lady Culv. (with just a suspicion of malice). Perhaps, Rohesia, you would like him to take you in?
Lady Cant. 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 Culv. I really don't know whom I can give Mr. Spurrell. There's Rhoda Cokayne, 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 Cant. (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, and Mr. and Mrs. Earwaker, and Mr. Shorthorn are announced at intervals; salutations, recognitions, and commonplaces are exchanged.
Lady Cant. (later—to the Bishop, genially). Ah, my dear Dr. Rodney, 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 classes—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 Cant. (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 Saturday! Severe—but merited!
Lady Cant. I wonder, Bishop, if you have seen this wonderful volume of poetry that everyone 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 passages a decided taint of the morbid sensuousness which renders so much of our modern literature sickly and unwholesome.
Lady Cant. 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 unassuming, 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 nobody 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 passes on, leaving his host speechless.
Lady Cant. 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.
Spurr. (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.
Spurr. 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 dicky 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 is somewhat 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!
Spurr. (to himself). Well, he may be a dab at dogmas—he don't know much about dogs. Drummy's got a constitution worth a dozen of his!
Lady Culv. (approaching him). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, Lord Lullington wishes to know you. If you will come with me. (To herself, as she leads him up to Lord L.) I do wish Rohesia wouldn't force me to do this sort of thing!
[She presents him.
[101]
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.
Spurr. (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 Lull. (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.
Spurr. (to himself). Give it! He won't get it under a five-pound note, I can tell him. (He makes his way to Miss Spelwane.) I say, what do you think the old Bishop's been up to? Pitching into Andromeda like the very dooce—says she's sickly!
Miss Spelwane (to herself). He brings his literary disappointments to me, not Maisie! (Aloud, with the sweetest sympathy.) How dreadfully unjust! Oh, I've dropped my fan—no, pray don't trouble; I can pick it up. My arms are so long, you know—like a kangaroo's—no, what is that animal which has such long arms? You're so clever, you ought to know!
Spurr. I suppose you mean a gorilla?
Miss Spelw. How crushing of you! But you must go away now, or else you'll find nothing to say to me at dinner—you take me in, you know. I hope you feel privileged. I feel——But if I told you, I might make you too conceited!
Spurr. Oh, no, you wouldn't.
[Sir Rupert approaches with Mr. Shorthorn.
Sir Rupert. Vivien, my dear, let me introduce Mr. Shorthorn—Miss Spelwane. (To Spurrell.) Let me see—ha—yes, you take in Mrs. Chatteris. Don't know her? Come this way, and I'll find her for you.
[He marches Spurrell off.
Mr. Shorthorn (to Miss Spelwane). Good thing getting this rain at last; a little more of this dry weather and we should have had no grass to speak of!
Miss Spelw. (who has not quite recovered from her disappointment). And now you will have some grass to speak of? How fortunate!
Spurr. (as dinner is announced, to Lady Maisie). I say, Lady Maisie, I've just been told I've got to take in a married lady. I don't know what to talk to her about. I should feel a lot more at home with you. Couldn't we manage it somehow?
Lady Maisie (to herself). What a fearful suggestion—but I simply daren't snub him! (Aloud.) I'm afraid, Mr. Spurrell, we must both put up with the partners we have; most distressing, isn't it—but!
[She gives a little shrug.
Captain Thicknesse (immediately behind her, to himself). Gad, that's pleasant! I knew I'd better have gone to Aldershot! (Aloud.) I've been told off to take you in, Lady Maisie, not my fault, don't you know.
Lady Maisie. There's no need to be so apologetic about it. (To herself.) Oh, I hope he didn't hear what I said to that wretch.
Capt. Thick. Well, I rather thought there might be, perhaps.
Lady Maisie (to herself). He did hear it. If he's going to be so stupid as to misunderstand, I'm sure I shan't explain.
[They take their place in the procession to the Dining Hall.
"I'd rather a job to get these things on; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering!"