(A Story in Scenes.)
PART XVIII.—THE LAST STRAW.
Scene XXVII. (continued).—The Chinese Drawing Room. Spurrell's ingenuous remark upon the coincidence of the title of the volume in his hand with the name of his bull-dog has produced a painful silence, which no one has sufficient presence of mind to break for several seconds.
Miss Spelwane (to herself). Not Clarion Blair! Not even a poet! I—I could slap him!
Pilliner (to himself). Poor dear Vivien! But if people will insist on patting a strange poet, they mustn't be surprised if they get a nasty bite!
Lady Maisie (to herself). He didn't write Andromeda! Then he hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a brute to the poor dear man! How lucky I said nothing about it to Gerald!
Captain Thicknesse (to himself). So he ain't the bard!... Now I see why Maisie's been behavin' so oddly all the evenin'; she spotted him, and didn't like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, though. Well, I shall stay out my leave now!
Lady Rhoda (to herself). I thought all along he seemed too good a sort for a poet!
Archie (to himself). It's all very well; but how about that skit he went up to write on us? He must be a poet of sorts.
Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris (to herself). This is fearfully puzzling. What made him say that about "Lady Grisoline"?