Mrs. Chatt. (to herself). It's quite amusing how jealous these poets are of one another! (Aloud.) Is it true they get a butt of sherry given them for it?
Spurr. I've heard of winners getting a bottle or two of champagne in a bucket—not sherry. But a little stimulant won't hurt a crack when he comes in, provided it's not given him too soon; wait till he's got his wind and done blowing, you know.
Mrs. Chatt. I'm taking that in. I know it's very witty and satirical, and I daresay I shall understand it in time.
Spurr. Oh, it doesn't matter much if you don't. (To himself.) Pleasant kind of woman—but a perfect fool to talk to!
Mrs. Chatt. (to herself). I've always heard that clever writers are rather stupid when you meet them—it's quite true.
Captain Thicknesse (to himself). I should like her to see that I've got some imagination in me, though she does think me such an ass. (Aloud, to Lady Maisie.) Jolly old hall this is, with the banners, and the gallery, and that—makes you fancy some of those old mediæval Johnnies in armour—knights, you know—comin' clankin' in and turnin' us all out.
Lady Maisie (to herself). I do trust Mr. Spurrell isn't saying something too dreadful. I'm sure I heard my name just now. (Aloud, absently, to Capt. Thicknesse.) No, did you really? How amusing it must have been!
Capt. Thick. (aggrieved). If you'd done me the honour of payin' any attention to what I was sayin', you'd have found out it wasn't amusin'.
Lady M. (starting). Oh, wasn't it? I'm so sorry I missed it. I—I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. Do tell me again!
Capt. Thick. (still hurt). No, I won't inflict it on you—not worth repeatin'. And I should only be takin' off your attention from a fellow that does know how to talk.