Spurrell (to himself). My word, what a room! Carpet hung all over the walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with blazing logs,—if this is how they do a vet here, what price the other fellows' rooms? And to think I shall have to do without dinner, just when I was getting on with 'em all so swimmingly! I must. I can't, for the credit of the profession—to say nothing of the firm—turn up in a monkey jacket and tweed bags, and that's all I've got except a nightgown!... It's all very well for Lady Maisie to say, "Take everything as it comes," but if she was in my fix!... And it isn't as if I hadn't got dress things either. If only I'd brought 'em down, I'd have marched in to dinner as cool as a—— (he lights a pair of candles.) Hullo! What's that on the bed? (He approaches it.) Shirt! white tie! socks! coat, waistcoat, trousers—they are dress clothes!... And here's a pair of brushes on the table! I'll swear they're not mine—there's a monogram on them—"U.G." What does it all mean? Why, of course! regular old trump, Sir Rupert, and naturally he wants me to do him credit. He saw how it was, and he's gone and rigged me out! In a house like this, they're ready for emergencies—keep all sizes in stock, I dare say.... It isn't "U.G." on the brushes—it's "G.U."—"Guest's Use." Well, this is what I call doing the thing in style! Cinderella's nothing to it! Only hope they're a decent fit. (Later, as he dresses.) Come, the shirt's all right; trousers a trifle short—but they'll let down; waistcoat—whew, must undo the buckle—hang it, it is undone! I feel like a hooped barrel in it! Now the coat—easy does it. Well, it's on; but I shall have to be peeled like a walnut to get it off again.... Shoes? ah, here they are—pair of pumps. Phew—must have come from the Torture Exhibition in Leicester Square; glass slippers nothing to 'em! But they'll have to do at a pinch; and they do pinch like blazes! Ha, ha, that's good! I must tell that to the Captain. (He looks at himself in a mirror.) Well, I can't say they're up to mine for cut and general style; but they're passable. And now I'll go down to the drawing-room and get on terms with all the smarties!
[He saunters out with restored complacency.
PART IX
THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE
In the Chinese Drawing-room at Wyvern. Time—7.50. Lady Culverin is alone, glancing over a written list.
Lady Cantire (entering). Down already, Albinia? I thought if I made haste I should get a quiet chat with you before anybody else came in. What is that paper? Oh, the list of couples for Rupert. May I see? (As Lady Culverin surrenders it.) My dear, you're not going to inflict that mincing little Pilliner boy on poor Maisie! That really won't do. At least let her have somebody she used to. Why not Captain Thicknesse? He's an old friend, and she's not seen him for months. I must alter that, if you've no objection. (She does.) And then you've given my poor poet to that Spelwane girl! Now, why?
Lady Culverin. I thought she wouldn't mind putting up with him just for one evening.
Lady Cantire. Wouldn't mind! Putting up with him! And is that how you speak of a celebrity when you are so fortunate as to have one to entertain? Really, Albinia!
Lady Culverin. But, my dear Rohesia, you must allow that, whatever his talents may be, he is not—well, not quite one of Us. Now, is he?
Lady Cantire (blandly). My dear, I never heard he had any connection with the manufacture of chemical manures, in which your worthy papa so greatly distinguished himself—if that is what you mean.