Lady Culverin. So glad you all contrive to keep your spirits up, in spite of this dismal weather. What is it that's amusing you all so much, eh, dear Vivien?
Miss Spelwane. Bertie Pilliner has been reading aloud to us, dear Lady Culverin—the most ridiculous poetry—made us all simply shriek. What's the name of it? (Taking the volume out of Bertie's hand.) Oh, Andromeda, and other Poems. By Clarion Blair.
Lady Culverin (coldly). Bertie Pilliner can turn everything into ridicule, we all know; but probably you are not aware that these particular poems are considered quite wonderful by all competent judges. Indeed, my sister-in-law——
All (in consternation). Lady Cantire! Is she the author? Oh, of course, if we'd had any idea——
Lady Culverin. I've no reason to believe that Lady Cantire ever composed any poetry. I was only going to say that she was most interested in the author, and as she and my niece Maisie are coming to us this evening——
Miss Spelwane. Dear Lady Culverin, the verses are quite, quite beautiful; it was only the way they were read.
Lady Culverin. I am glad to hear you say so, my dear, because I'm also expecting the pleasure of seeing the author here, and you will probably be his neighbour to-night. I hope, Bertie, that you will remember that this young man is a very distinguished genius; there is no wit that I can discover in making fun of what one doesn't happen to understand.
[She passes on.
Bertie (plaintively, after Lady Culverin has left the room). May I trouble somebody to scrape me up? I'm pulverised! But really, you know, a real live poet at Wyvern! I say, Miss Spelwane, how will you like to have him dabbling his matted head next to you at dinner, eh?
Miss Spelwane. Perhaps I shall find a matted head more entertaining than a smooth one. And, if you've quite done with that volume, I should like to have a look at it.