LYRE AND LANCET.
(A Story in Scenes.)
PART XXI.—THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER.
Scene XXXI.—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?
Capt. Thick. No—only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.
Pill. 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!
Capt. Thick. Perhaps—only, you see, I don't want to.
Pill. Well, tastes differ. 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, is not my own idea of the best way to spend a cheery Sunday, that's all.
Capt. Thick. (gloomily). Daresay it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.
Pill. I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast. The Bard conversed—but he seemed to diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that might almost be described as d—d offensive.
Capt. Thick. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude I thought it!
Pill. 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 the Countess breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady Maisie.
Capt. Thick. 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.
Pill. If you want to say good-bye, old fellow, now's your chance!
Capt. Thick. It—it don't matter. She's engaged. And, look here, you needn't mention that I was askin' for her.
Pill. 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.
Capt. Thick. 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.
Pill. (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 Vivian 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.
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 inaccuracy to pass 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 Cant. 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. Chatt. 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 Cant. (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. Undershell—fine old monuments and brasses, if you care about that sort of thing. Some of us will be walking over to service presently, if you would like to——
Undershell (outside—to himself). And lose my tête-à-tête with Lady Maisie! Not exactly! (Aloud.) I am afraid, Sir Rupert, that I cannot conscientiously——
Sir Rup. (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!
Lady Cant. Rupert, who is that you are talking to out there? I don't recognise his voice, somehow.
Sir Rup. (entering with Undershell). Ha, Rohesia, you've come down, then? slept well, I hope. I was talking to a gentleman whose acquaintance I know you will be very happy to make—at last. This is the genuine celebrity this time. (To Undershell.) Let me make you known to my sister, Lady Cantire, Mr. Undershell. (As Lady Cantire glares interrogatively.) Mr. Clarion Blair, Rohesia, author of hum—ha—Andromache.
Lady Cant. I thought we were given to understand last night that Mr. Spurrell—Mr. Blair—you must pardon me, but it's really so very confusing—that the writer of the—ah—volume in question had already left Wyvern.
Sir Rup. Well, my dear, you see he is still here—er—fortunately for us. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave Mr. Blair to entertain you; got to speak to Tredwell about something.
[He hurries out.
Und. (to himself). This must be Lady Maisie's mamma. Better be civil to her, I suppose, but I can't stay here and entertain her long! (Aloud.) Lady Cantire, I—er—have an appointment for which I am already a little late; but before I go, I should like to tell you how much pleasure it has given me to know that my poor verse has won your approval; appreciation from——
Lady Cant. I'm afraid you must have been misinformed, Mr.—a—Blair. There are so many serious publications claiming attention in these days of literary over-production that I have long made it a rule to read no literature of a lighter order that has not been before the world for at least ten years. I may be mistaken, but I infer from your appearance that your own work must be of a considerably more recent date.
Und. (to himself). If she imagines she's going to snub Me——! (Aloud.) Then I was evidently mistaken in gathering from some expressions in your daughter's letter that——
Lady Cant. Entirely. You are probably thinking of some totally different person, as my daughter has never mentioned having written to you, and is not in the habit of conducting any correspondence without my full knowledge and approval. I think you said you had some appointment; if so, pray don't consider yourself under any necessity to remain.
Und. You are very good; I will not. (To himself, as he retires.) Awful old lady, that! I quite thought she would know all about that letter, or I should never have——However, I said nothing to compromise anyone, luckily!
Lady Culverin (entering). Good morning, Rohesia. So glad you felt equal to coming down. I was almost afraid—after last night, you know.
Lady Cant. (offering a cold cheekbone for salutation). I am in my usual health, thank you, Albinia. As to last night, if you must ask a literary Socialist down here, you might at least see that he is received with common courtesy. You may, for anything you can tell, have advanced the Social Revolution ten years in a single evening!
Lady Culv. My dear Rohesia! If you remember, it was you yourself who——!
Lady Cant. (closing her eyes). I am in no condition to argue about it, Albinia. The slightest exercise of your own common sense would have shown you——But there, no great harm has been done, fortunately, so let us say no more about it. I have something more agreeable to talk about. I've every reason to hope that Maisie and dear Gerald Thicknesse——
Lady Culv. (astonished). Maisie? But I thought Gerald Thicknesse spoke as if——!
Lady Cant. Very possibly, my dear. I have always refrained from giving him any encouragement, and I wouldn't put any pressure upon dear Maisie for the world—still, I have my feelings as a mother, and I can't deny that, with such prospects as he has now, it is gratifying for me to think that they may be coming to an understanding together at this very moment; she is showing him the grounds; which I always think are the great charm of Wyvern, so secluded!
Lady Culv. (puzzled). Together! At this very moment! But—but surely Gerald has gone?
Lady Cant. Gone! What nonsense, Albinia! Where in the world should he have gone to?
Lady Culv. He was leaving by the 10.40, I know. For Aldershot. I ordered the cart for him, and he said good-bye after breakfast. He seemed so dreadfully down, poor fellow, that I quite fancied from what he said that Maisie must have——
Lady Cant. Impossible, my dear, quite impossible! I tell you he is here. Why, only a few minutes ago, Mrs. Chatteris was telling me—— Ah, here she is to speak for herself. (To Mrs. Chatteris, who appears, arrayed for public service.) Mrs. Chatteris, did I, or did I not, understand you to say just now that my daughter Maisie——?
Mrs. Chatt. (alarmed). But, dear Lady Cantire, I had no idea you would disapprove. Indeed you seemed——And really, though she certainly takes an interest in him, I'm sure—almost sure—there can be nothing serious—at present.
Lady Cant. Thank you, my dear, I merely wished for an answer to my question. And you see, Albinia, that Gerald Thicknesse can hardly have gone yet, since he is walking about the grounds with Maisie.
Mrs. Chatt. Captain Thicknesse? But he has gone, Lady Cantire! I saw him start. I didn't mean him.
Lady Cant. Indeed? then I shall be obliged if you will say who it is you did mean.
Mrs. Chatt. Why, only her old friend and admirer—that little poet man, Mr. Blair.
Lady Cant. (to herself). And I actually sent him to her! (Rising in majestic wrath.) Albinia, whatever comes of this, remember I shall hold you entirely responsible!
[She sweeps out of the room; the other two ladies look after her, and then at one another, in silent consternation.
"I'll be off, or they'll nail me for church!"