[She retires with it to her room.
Archie (to himself). I'm not half sorry this Poet-johnny's comin'; I never caught a Bard in a booby-trap yet.
Capt. Thick. (to himself). She's coming—this very evening! And I was nearly sayin' I must get back to Aldershot!
Lady Rhoda. So Lady Cantire's comin'; we shall all have to be on our hind legs now! But Maisie's a dear thing. Do you know her, Captain Thicknesse!
Capt. Thick. I—I used to meet Lady Maisie Mull pretty often some time ago; don't know if she'll remember it, though.
Lady Rhoda. She'll love meetin' this writin' man—she's so fearfully romantic. I heard her say once that she'd give anythin' to be idealised by a great poet—sort of—what's their names—Petrarch and Laura business, don't you know. It will be rather amusin' to see whether it comes off—won't it?
Capt. Thick. (choking). I—ah—no affair of mine, really. (To himself.) I'm not intellectual enough for her, I know that. Suppose I shall have to stand by and look on at the Petrarchin'. Well, there's always Aldershot!
[The luncheon gong sounds, to the general relief and satisfaction.