Undershell (indignant). But they're mine! Confound his impudence! Here, I'll write him a line at once. (He scribbles a note.) There, see that the gentleman of the Verney Chamber gets this at once, and bring me his answer.
Boy. What! me go into the dinin'-'all, with all the swells at table? I dursn't. I should get the sack from old Treddy.
Undershell. I don't care who takes it so long as it is taken. Tell Thomas it's his mistake, and he must do what he can to put it right. Say I shall certainly complain if I don't get back my clothes and portmanteau. Get that note delivered somehow, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (To himself, as the Boy departs, much against his will.) If Lady Culverin doesn't consider me fit to appear at her dinner-table, I don't see why my evening clothes should be more privileged!
In the Dining-hall. The table is oval; Spurrell is placed between Lady Rhoda Cokayne and Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris.
Mrs. Chatteris (encouragingly, after they are seated). Now, I shall expect you to be very brilliant and entertaining. I'll do all the listening for once in a way—though, generally, I can talk about all manner of silly things with anybody!
Spurrell (extremely ill at ease). Oh—er—I should say you were quite equal to that. But I really can't think of anything to talk about.
Mrs. Chatteris. That's a bad beginning. I always find the menu cards such a good subject, when there's anything at all out of the common about them. If they're ornamented, you can talk about them—though not for very long at a time, don't you think?
Spurrell (miserably). I can't say how long I could go on about ornamented ones—but these are plain. (To himself.) I can hear this waistcoat going already—and we're only at the soup!
Mrs. Chatteris. It is a pity. Never mind; tell me about literary and artistic people. Do you know, I'm rather glad I'm not literary or artistic myself; it seems to make people so queer-looking, somehow. Oh, of course I didn't mean you looked queer—but generally, you know. You've made quite a success with your Andromeda, haven't you? I only go by what I'm told—I don't read much myself. We women have so many really serious matters to attend to—arranging about dinners, and visits, and trying on frocks, and then rushing about from party to party. I so seldom get a quiet moment. Ah, I knew I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever know any one called Lady Grisoline?
Spurrell. Lady—er—Grisoline? No; can't say I do. I know Lady Maisie, that's all.