Und. Not exactly! I assure you, it is simply inconceivable to me that, in a circle of any pretensions to culture and refinement, an ill-bred boor like that could have been accepted for a single moment as—I won't say a Man of Genius, but——
Lady Maisie (the light dying out of her eyes). No, don't—don't go on, Mr. Blair! We were all exceedingly stupid, no doubt, but you must make allowances for us—for me, especially. I have had so few opportunities of meeting people who are really distinguished—in literature, at least. Most of the people I know best are—well, not exactly clever, you know. I so often wish I was in a set that cared rather more about intellectual things!
Und. (with infinite pity). How you must have pined for freer air! How you must have starved on such mental provender as, for example, the vapid and inane common-places of that swaggering carpet-soldier, Captain—Thickset, isn't it?
Lady Maisie (drawing back into her corner). You evidently don't know that Captain Thicknesse distinguished himself greatly in the Soudan, where he was very severely wounded.
Und. Possibly; but that is scarcely to the point. I do not question his efficiency as a fighting animal. As to his intelligence, perhaps, the less said the better.
Lady Maisie (contracting her brows). Decidedly. I ought to have mentioned at once that Captain Thicknesse is a very old friend of mine.
Und. Really? He, at least, may be congratulated. But pray don't think that I spoke with any personal animus; I merely happen to entertain a peculiar aversion for a class whose profession is systematic slaughter. In these Democratic times, when Humanity is advancing by leaps and bounds towards International Solidarity, soldiers are such grotesque and unnecessary anachronisms.
Lady Maisie (to herself, with a little shiver). Oh, why does he—why does he? (Aloud.) I should have thought that, until war itself is an anachronism, men who are willing to fight and die for their country could never be quite unnecessary. But we won't discuss Captain Thicknesse, particularly now that he has left Wyvern. Suppose we go back to Mr. Spurrell. I know, of course, that, in leaving him in ignorance as you did, you acted from the best and highest motives; but still——
Und. It is refreshing to be so thoroughly understood! I think I know what your "but still" implies—why did I not foresee that he would infallibly betray himself before long? I did. But I gave him credit for being able to sustain his part for another hour or two—until I had gone, in fact.
Lady Maisie. Then you didn't wish to spare his feelings as well as ours?