Miss Spelw. Oh, by all means! (To herself.) I might as well praise a pillar-post! And after spending quite half an hour reading him up, too! I wonder if Bertie Pilliner was right; but I shall have him all to myself at dinner.
Lady Cant. And where is Rupert? too busy of course to come and say a word! Well, some day he may understand what a sister is—when it's too late. Ah, here's our nice unassuming young poet coming up to talk to you. Don't repel him, my dear!
Spurr. (to himself). Better give her the chance of telling me what's wrong with the horse, I suppose. (Aloud.) Er—nice old-fashioned sort of house this, Lady Culverin. (To himself.) I'll work round to the stabling presently.
Lady Culv. (coldly). I believe it dates from the Tudors—if that is what you mean.
Lady Cant. My dear Albinia, I quite understand him; "old-fashioned" is exactly the epithet. And I was born and brought up here, so perhaps I should know.
[A footman enters, and comes up to Spurrell mysteriously.
Footman. Will you let me have your keys, if you please, Sir?
Spurr. (in some alarm). My keys! (Suspiciously.) Why, what do you want them for?
Lady Cant. (in a whisper). Isn't he deliciously unsophisticated? Quite a child of nature! (Aloud.) My dear Mr. Spurrell, he wants your keys to unlock your portmanteau and put out your things; you'll be able to dress for dinner all the quicker.
Spurr. Do you mean—am I to have the honour of sitting down with all of you?