Ah, I remember; I received the document. Tell me, were there many competitors?
GERALD.
A dozen or so.
LADY WARGRAVE.
Is it possible that Oxford can produce eleven worse poems than yours?
GERALD.
My dear aunt!
[Colonel turns aside, chuckling, and finds himself face to face with Margery, laughing; both become suddenly serious.
MRS. SYLVESTER [advancing].
It is a work of genius—none but a true poet——