LYRE AND LANCET.
(A Story in Scenes.)
PART XVIII.—THE LAST STRAW.
Scene XXVII. (continued).—The Chinese Drawing Room. Spurrell's ingenuous remark upon the coincidence of the title of the volume in his hand with the name of his bull-dog has produced a painful silence, which no one has sufficient presence of mind to break for several seconds.
Miss Spelwane (to herself). Not Clarion Blair! Not even a poet! I—I could slap him!
Pilliner (to himself). Poor dear Vivien! But if people will insist on patting a strange poet, they mustn't be surprised if they get a nasty bite!
Lady Maisie (to herself). He didn't write Andromeda! Then he hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a brute to the poor dear man! How lucky I said nothing about it to Gerald!
Captain Thicknesse (to himself). So he ain't the bard!... Now I see why Maisie's been behavin' so oddly all the evenin'; she spotted him, and didn't like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, though. Well, I shall stay out my leave now!
Lady Rhoda (to herself). I thought all along he seemed too good a sort for a poet!
Archie (to himself). It's all very well; but how about that skit he went up to write on us? He must be a poet of sorts.
Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris (to herself). This is fearfully puzzling. What made him say that about "Lady Grisoline"?
The Bishop (to himself). A crushing blow for the Countess; but not unsalutary. I am distinctly conscious of feeling more kindly disposed to that young man. Now why?
[He ponders.
Lady Lullington (to herself). I thought this young man was going to read us some of his poetry; it's too tiresome of him to stop to tell us about his bull-dog. As if anybody cared what he called it!
Lord Lullington (to himself). Uncommonly awkward, this! If I could catch Laura's eye—but I suppose it would hardly be decent to go just yet.
Lady Culverin (to herself). Can Rohesia have known this? What possible object could she have had in——And oh, dear, how disgusted Rupert will be!
Sir Rupert (to himself). Seems a decent young chap enough! Too bad of Rohesia to let him in for this. I don't care a straw what he is—he's none the worse for not being a poet.
Lady Cantire (to herself). What is he maundering about? It's utterly inconceivable that I should have made any mistake. It's only too clear what the cause is—Claret!
Spurrell (aloud, good-humouredly). Too bad of you to try and spoof me like this before everybody, Miss Spelwane! I don't know whose idea it was to play me such a trick, but——
Miss Spelw. (indistinctly). Please understand that nobody here had the least intention of playing a trick upon you!
Spurr. Well, if you say so, of course——But it looked rather like it, asking me to read when I've about as much poetry in me as—as a pot hat! Still, if I'm wanted to read aloud, I shall be happy to oblige——
Lady Culv. (hastily). Indeed, indeed, Mr. Spurrell, we couldn't think of troubling you under the circumstances! (In desperation.) Vivien, my dear, won't you sing something?
[The company echo the request with unusual eagerness.
Spurr. (to himself, during Miss Spelwane's song). Wonder what's put them off being read to all of a sudden. (As his eye happens to rest on the binding of the volume on his knee.) Hullo! This cover's pink, with silver things, not unlike cutlets, on it! Didn't Emma ask me——? By George, if it's that! I may get down to the Housekeeper's Room, after all! As soon as ever this squalling stops I'll find out; I can't go on like this! (Miss Spelwane leaves the piano; everybody plunges feverishly into conversation on the first subject—other than poetry or dogs—that presents itself, until Lord and Lady Lullington set a welcome example of departure.) Better wait till these county nobs have cleared, I suppose—there goes the last of 'em—now for it!... (He pulls himself together, and approaches his host and hostess.) Hem, Sir Rupert, and your ladyship, it's occurred to me that it's just barely possible you may have got it into your heads that I was something in the poetical way.
Sir Rup. (to himself). Not this poor young chap's fault; must let him down as easily as possible! (Aloud.) Not at all—not at all! Ha—assure you we quite understand; no necessity to say another word about it.
Spurr. (to himself). Just my luck! They quite understand! No Housekeeper's Room for me this journey! (Aloud.) Of course I knew the Countess, there, and Lady Maisie, were fully aware all along——(To Lady Maisie, as stifled exclamations reach his ear.) You were, weren't you?
Lady Maisie (hastily). Yes, yes, Mr. Spurrell. Of course! It's all perfectly right!
Spurr. (to the others). You see, I should never have thought of coming in as a visitor if it hadn't been for the Countess; she would have it that it was all right, and that I needn't be afraid I shouldn't be welcome.
Lady Culv. To be sure—any friend of my sister-in-law's——
Lady Cant. Albinia, I have refrained from speech as long as possible; but this is really too much! You don't suppose I should have introduced Mr. Spurrell here unless I had had the strongest reasons for knowing, however he may be pleased to mystify us now, that he, and nobody else, is the author of Andromeda! And I, for one, absolutely decline to believe in this preposterous story of his about a bull-dog.
Spurr. But your ladyship must have known! Why, you as good as asked me on the way here to put you down for a bull-pup!
Lady Cant. Never, never! A bull-pup is the last creature I should ever dream of coveting. You were obliging enough to ask me to accept a presentation copy of your verses.
Spurr. Was I? I don't exactly see how I could have been, considering I never made a rhyme in my life!
Sir Rup. There, there, Rohesia, it was your mistake; but as we are indebted to it for the pleasure of making Mr. Spurrell's acquaintance——
Lady Cant. I am not in the habit of making mistakes, Rupert. I don't know what you and Albinia and Maisie may know that I am in ignorance of, but, since you seem to have been aware from the first that Mr. Spurrell was not the poet you had invited here to meet me, will you kindly explain what has become of the real author?
Sir Rup. My dear Rohesia, I don't know and I don't care!
Lady Cant. There you are wrong, Rupert, because it's obvious that if he is not Mr. Spurrell, his absence has to be accounted for in some way.
Spurr. By Jove, I believe I can put you on the track. I shouldn't wonder if he's the party these dress clothes of mine belong to! I daresay you may have noticed they don't look as if they were made for me?
Lady Cant. (closing her eyes). Pray let us avoid any sartorial discussions! We are waiting to hear about this person.
Spurr. Well, I found I'd got on his things by mistake, and I went up as soon as I could after dessert to my room to take 'em off, and there he was, with a waste-paper basket on his head——
Lady Cant. A waste-paper basket on his head! And pray what should he have that for?
Spurr. He said he wouldn't take it off till he saw me. And I never saw anyone in such a mess with ink and flour as he was!
Lady Cant. Ink and flour, indeed! This rigmarole gets more ridiculous every moment! You can't seriously expect anyone here to believe it!
[Archie discreetly retires to the smoking-room.
Spurr. Well, I rather think somebody must have fixed up a booby trap for me, you know, and he happened to go in first and get the benefit of it. And he was riled, very naturally, thinking I'd done it, but after we'd had a little talk together, he calmed down and said I might keep his clothes, which I thought uncommonly good-natured of him, you know. By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if your ladyship would like to see it.
[209]
[He hands it to Lady Culverin.
Lady Culv. "Mr. Undershell!" ... Rohesia, that is Clarion Blair! I knew it was something ending in "ell." (To Spurrell.) And you say Mr. Undershell is here—in this house?
Spurr. Not now. He's gone by this time.
The Others (in dismay). Gone!
Spurr. He said he was leaving at once. If he'd only told me how it was, I'd have——
Lady Cant. I don't believe a single word of all this! If Mr. Spurrell is not Clarion Blair, let him explain how he came to be coming down to Wyvern this afternoon!
[Partial reaction in company.
Spurr. If your ladyship doesn't really know, you had better ask Sir Rupert; he'll tell you it's all right.
Lady Cant. Then perhaps you will be good enough to enlighten us, Rupert?
Sir Rup. (driven into a corner). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to say that I'm just as much in the dark as anybody else, if it comes to that!
Spurr. (eagerly). But you wired me to come, Sir! About a horse of yours! I've been wondering all the evening when you'd tell me I could go round and have a look at him. I'm here instead of Mr. Spavin—now do you understand, Sir Rupert? I'm the Vet.
[Suppressed sensation.
Sir Rup. (to himself). This is devilish awkward! Don't quite know what to do. (Aloud.) To—to be sure you are! Of course! That's it, Rohesia! Mr. Spurrell came down to see a horse, and we shall be very glad to have the benefit of his opinion by-and-by.
[He claps him amicably on the shoulder.
Lady Cant. (in a sepulchral tone). Albinia, I think I will go to bed.
[She withdraws.
Sir Rup. (to himself). There'll be no harm in letting him stay, now he is here. If Rohesia objects, she's got nobody but herself to blame for it!
Spurr. (to himself). They won't want to keep me upstairs much longer after this! (Tredwell enters, and seems to have something of importance to communicate to Sir Rupert in private.) I wonder what the dooce is up now!
"Albinia, I think I will go to bed!"