Lady Culverin. I don't think you ought to say so, really, Rupert. And I'm sure I get on very well with her—generally.
Sir Rupert. Because you knock under to her.
Lady Culverin. I'm sure I don't, Rupert—at least, no more than everybody else. Dear Rohesia is so strong-minded and advanced and all that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things, that she can't understand contradiction; she is so democratic in her ideas, don't you know.
Sir Rupert. Didn't prevent her marrying Cantire. And a democratic Countess—it's downright unnatural!
Lady Culverin. She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet the People half-way. That reminds me—did I tell you Mr. Clarion Blair is coming down this evening, too?—only till Monday, Rupert.
Sir Rupert. Clarion Blair! never heard of him.
Lady Culverin. I suppose I forgot. Clarion Blair isn't his real name, though; it's only a—an alias.
Sir Rupert. Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What is his real name?
Lady Culverin. Well, I know it was something ending in "ell," but I mislaid his letter. Still, Clarion Blair is the name he writes under; he's a poet, Rupert, and quite celebrated, so I'm told.
Sir Rupert (uneasily). A poet! What on earth possessed you to ask a literary fellow down here? Poetry isn't much in our way; and a poet will be, confoundedly!