Mrs. Chatt. Exactly! Poets' heads are so easily turned; and, as I said to Captain Thicknesse——
Lady Maisie. Captain Thicknesse! You have been talking about it—to him!
Mrs. Chatt. I'd no idea you would mind anybody knowing, or I would never have dreamed of——I've such a perfect horror of gossip! It took me so much by surprise, that I simply couldn't resist; but I can easily tell Captain Thicknesse it was all a mistake; he knows how fearfully inaccurate I always am.
Lady Maisie. I would rather you said nothing more about it, please; it is really not worth while contradicting anything so utterly absurd. (To herself.) That Gerald—Captain Thicknesse—of all people, should know of my letter! And goodness only knows what story she may have made out of it!
Mrs. Chatt. (to herself, as she moves away). I've been letting my tongue run away with me, as usual. She's not the original of "Lady Grisoline," after all. Perhaps he meant Vivien Spelwane—the description was much more like her!
Pilliner (who has just entered with some of the younger men, to Miss Spelwane). What are you doing with these chairs? Why are we all to sit in a circle, like Moore and Burgess people? You're not going to set the poor dear Bishop down to play baby-games? How perfectly barbarous of you!
Miss Spelw. The chairs are being arranged for something much more intellectual. We are going to get Mr. Spurrell to read a poem to us, if you want to know. I told you I should manage it.
Pill. There's only one drawback to that highly desirable arrangement. The bard, with prophetic foreknowledge of your designs, has unostentatiously retired to roost. So I'm afraid you'll have to do without your poetry this evening—that is, unless you care to avail yourself again of my services?
Miss Spelw. (indignantly). It is too mean of you. You must have told him!
[He protests his innocence.