Lady Maisie. But I don't. And I—I did offer to explain, but you said you weren't curious!
Captain Thicknesse. Didn't want you to tell me anything that perhaps you'd rather not, don't you know. Still, I should like to know how this poet chap came to write a poem all about you, and call it "Lady Grisoline," if he never——
Lady Maisie. But it's too ridiculous! How could he? When he never saw me, so far as I know, in all his life before!
Captain Thicknesse. He told Mrs. Chatteris you were the original of his "Lady Grisoline" anyway, and really——
Lady Maisie. He dared to tell her that? How disgracefully impertinent of him. (To herself.) So long as he hasn't talked about my letter, he may say what he pleases!
Captain Thicknesse. But what was it you were goin' to explain to me? You said there was somethin'——
Lady Maisie (to herself). It's no use; I'd sooner die than tell him about that letter now! (Aloud.) I—I only wished you to understand that, whatever I think about poetry—I detest poets!
Lady Cantire. Yes, as you say, Bishop, a truly Augustan mode of recreation. Still, Mr. Spurrell doesn't seem to have come in yet, so I shall have time to hear anything you have to say in defence of your opposition to Parish Councils.
[The Bishop resigns himself to the inevitable.
Archie (in Pilliner's ear). Ink and flour—couldn't possibly miss him; the bard's got a matted head this time, and no mistake.