Miss Spelw. No? How forbearing of him! Would you mind not standing quite so much in my light, I can't see my work.
Capt. Thick. (to himself, retreating). That girl's always fishin' for compliments. I didn't rise that time, though. It's precious slow here. I've a good mind to say I must get back to Aldershot this afternoon.
[He wanders aimlessly about the room; Archie Bearpark looks out of window with undisguised boredom.
Lady Rhoda. I say, if none of you are goin' to be more amusin' than this, you may as well go back to your billiards again.
Bertie. Dear Lady Rhoda, how cruel of you! You'll have to let me stay. I'll be so good. Look here, I'll read aloud to you. I can—quite prettily. What shall it be? you don't care? no more do I. I'll take the first that comes. (He reaches for the nearest volume on a table close by.) How too delightful! Poetry—which I know you all adore.
[He turns over the leaves.
Lady Rhoda. If you ask me, I simply loathe it.
Bertie. Ah, but then you never heard me read it, you know. Now, here is a choice little bit, stuck right up in a corner, as if it had been misbehaving itself. "Disenchantment" it's called.
[He reads.
"My Love has sicklied unto Loath,