PART XVIII
THE LAST STRAW
After Spurrell's ingenuous comments upon the volume in his hand, a painful silence ensues, 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?