Lady Rhoda (after a low whistle). No idea it had gone so far as that—already! Now I begin to see why Gerry Thicknesse has been lookin' as if he'd sat on his best hat, and why he told your Aunt he might have to be off to-morrow; which is all stuff, because I happen to know his leave ain't up for two or three days yet. But he sees this Troubadour has put his poor old nose out of joint for him.
Lady Maisie (flushing). Now, Rhoda, I won't have you talking as if—as if—— You ought to know, if Gerald Thicknesse doesn't, that it's nothing at all of that sort! It's just—— Oh, I can't tell you how some of his poems moved me, what new ideas, wider views they seemed to teach; and then how dreadfully it hurt to think it was only Mr. Spurrell after all!... But now—oh, the relief of finding they're not spoilt; that I can still admire, still look up to the man who wrote them! Not to have to feel that he is quite commonplace—not even a gentleman—in the ordinary sense!
Lady Rhoda (rising). Ah well, I prefer a hero who looks as if he had his hair cut, occasionally—but then, I'm not romantic. He may be the paragon you say; but if I was you, my dear, I wouldn't expect too much of that young man—allow a margin for shrinkage, don't you know. And now I think I'll turn into my little crib, for I'm dead tired. Good night; don't sit up late readin' poetry; it's my opinion you've read quite enough as it is!
[She goes.
Lady Maisie (alone, as she gazes dreamily into the fire). She doesn't in the least understand! She actually suspects me of—— As if I could possibly—or as if Mamma would ever—even if he—— Oh, how silly I am!... I don't care! I am glad I haven't had to give up my ideal. I should like to know him better. What harm is there in that? And if Gerald chooses to go to-morrow, he must—that's all. He isn't nearly so nice as he used to be; and he has even less imagination than ever! I don't think I could care for anybody so absolutely matter-of-fact. And yet, only an hour ago I almost——But that was before!
"Well, we can't complain of havin' had a dull evenin', can we?"
By Ben Trovato.—Mr. Arthur Roberts is always interested in current events, with a view to new verses for his topical songs. A friend came up to him one day last week with the latest Globe in his hand, just as the Eminent One was ordering dinner for a party of four. "They're sure to take Port Arthur!" cried the friend, excitedly. "I never touch it myself," said Mr. Roberts, "but I'll order a bottle."