Sir Rup. Devilish thoughtful of her.
Lady Culv. Wasn't it? She thought it might be a valuable experience for him; he's sprung, I believe, from quite the middle class.
Sir Rup. Don't see myself why should he be sprung on us. Why can't Rohesia ask him to her own place?
Lady Culv. I daresay she will, if he turns out to be quite presentable. And, of course, he may, Rupert, for anything we can tell.
Sir Rup. Then you've never seen him yourself! How did you manage to ask him here, then?
Lady Culv. Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. Rohesia says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come.
Sir Rup. So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no tie—or else a red one—if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia, depend upon it.
Lady Culv. Dear Rupert, aren't you just a little bit narrow? You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius—no matter what their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the masses against us. Rohesia thinks so; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, Rupert!
Sir Rup. Oh, if Rohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Saturday to Monday, she might do her share of the stemming at all events.
Lady Culv. But you will be nice to him, Rupert, won't you?