[_He drops into a chair, dazed._

_Spurrell_ (_complacently_). It's curious how that b.i.t.c.h's fame seems to have spread. Why, even the old Bishop---- But, I say, you're looking rather queer; anything the matter with you, old fellow?

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_faintly_). Nothing--nothing. I--I feel a little giddy, that's all. I shall be better presently.

[_He conceals his face._

_Spurrell_ (_in concern_). It was having that basket down on your head like that. Too bad! Here, I'll get you some water. (_He bustles about._) I don't know if you're aware of it, old chap, but you're in a regular _dooce_ of a mess!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_motioning him away irritably_). Do you suppose I don't know _that_? For Heaven's sake, don't speak to me! let me alone!... I want to think--I want to think. (_To himself._) I see it all now! I've made a hideous mistake! I thought these Culverins were deliberately---- And all the time---- Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I've been!... And I can't even explain!... The only thing to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the truth. It's lucky I ordered that carriage!

(_Aloud, rising._) I'm all right now; and--and I can't stay here any longer. I am leaving directly--directly!

_Spurrell._ You must give me time to get out of this toggery, old chap; you'll have to pick me out of it like a lobster!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_wildly_). The clothes? Never mind them now. I can't wait. Keep them!

_Spurrell._ Do you really mean it, old fellow? If you _could_ spare 'em a bit longer, I'd be no end obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady Rhoda to come and finish a talk we were having, and they've taken away my own things to brush, so I haven't a rag to go down in except these; and they'd all think it so beastly rude if I went to bed now!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_impatiently_). I tell you you may keep them, if you'll only go away!

_Spurrell._ But where am I to send the things to when I've done with 'em?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ What do I---- Stay, here's my card. Send them to that address. Now go and finish your evening!

_Spurrell_ (_gratefully_). You _are_ a rattling good chap, and no mistake! Though I'm hanged if I can quite make out what you're doing here, you know!

_Undersh.e.l.l._ It's not at all necessary that you _should_ make it out.

I am leaving immediately, and--and I don't wish Sir Rupert or Lady Culverin to hear of this--you understand?

_Spurrell._ Well, it's no business of mine; you've behaved devilish well to me, and I'm not surprised that you'd rather not be seen in the state you're in. I shouldn't like it myself!

_Undersh.e.l.l._ State? _What_ state?

_Spurrell._ Ah, I _wondered_ whether you knew. You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at yourself in the gla.s.s. I dare say it'll come off right enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully!

[_He goes out._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_alone_). What does he mean? But I've no time to waste.

Where have they put my portmanteau? I can't give up _everything_. (_He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room._) Ah, it's in there. I'll get it out, and put my things in. (_As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection in a cheval gla.s.s._) Wh--who's that? Can this--this piebald horror possibly be--_me_? How----? Ah, it was _ink_ in that infernal basket--not water! And my hair's full of flour! I _can't_ go into a hotel like this, they'd think I was an escaped lunatic! (_He flies to a wash-hand stand, and scrubs and sluices desperately, after which he inspects the result in the mirror._) It's not _nearly_ off yet! Will _anything_ get rid of this streakiness? (_He soaps and scrubs once more._) And the flour's caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out before I am fit to be seen. (_He gradually, after infinite toil, succeeds in making himself slightly more presentable._) Is the carriage waiting for me all this time? (_He pitches things into his portmanteau in a frantic flurry._) What's that? Some one's coming!

[_He listens._

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE SUDDENLY COMES FACE TO FACE WITH HIS OWN REFLECTION.]

_Tredwell_ (_outside_). It's my conviction you've been telling me a pack o' lies, you young rascal. For what hearthly business that feller Undersh.e.l.l could 'ave in the Verney---- However, _I_'ll soon see how it is. (_He knocks._) Is any one in 'ere?

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself, distractedly_). He mustn't find me here!

Yet, where---- Ah, it's the only place!

[_He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as_ TREDWELL _enters_.

_Tredwell._ The boy's right. He _is_ in here; them candles is smouldering still. (_He relights one, and looks under the bed._) You'd better come out o' that, Undersh.e.l.l, and give an account of yourself--do you 'ear me?... He ain't under there! (_He tries the dressing-room door_; UNDERSh.e.l.l _holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle_.) Very well, sir, I know you're _there_, and I've no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your goings-on from Mr. Adams, and I shall 'ave to fetch Sir Rupert up to 'ave a talk with you by and bye.

[_He turns the key upon him, and goes._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself, overwhelmed, as the butler's step is heard retreating._) And I came down here to a.s.sert the dignity of Literature!

PART XVI

AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE

_In the Chinese Drawing-room._ TIME--_About_ 9.45 P.M.

_Mrs. Earwaker._ Yes, dear Lady Lullington, I've always insisted on each of my girls adopting a distinct line of her own, and the result has been _most_ satisfactory. Louisa, my eldest, is literary; she had a little story accepted not long ago by _The Milky Way_; then Maria is musical--practices regularly three hours every day on her violin.

f.a.n.n.y has become quite an expert in photography--kodaked her father the other day in the act of trying a difficult stroke at billiards; a back view--but _so_ clever and characteristic!

_Lady Lullington_ (_absently_). A back view? How _nice_!

_Mrs. Earwaker._ He was the only one of the family who didn't recognize it at once. Then my youngest Caroline--well, I must say that for a long time I was quite in despair about Caroline. It really looked as if there was no single thing that she had the slightest bent or inclination for. So at last I thought she had better take up religion, and make _that_ her speciality.

_Lady Lullington_ (_languidly_). Religion! How _very_ nice!

_Mrs. Earwaker._ Well, I got her a _Christian Year_ and a covered basket, and quant.i.ties of tracts, and so on; but, somehow, she didn't seem to get _on_ with it. So I let her give it up; and now she's gone in for poker-etching instead.

_Lady Lullington_ (_by an act of unconscious cerebration_).

Poker-etching! How very, _very_ nice!

[_Her eyelids close gently._

_Lady Rhoda._ Oh, but indeed, Lady Culverin, I thought he was perfectly charmin': not a bit booky, you know, but as clever as he can stick; knows more about terriers than any man I ever met!

_Lady Culverin._ So glad you found him agreeable, my dear. I was half afraid he might strike you as--well, just a little bit _common_ in his way of talking.

_Lady Rhoda._ P'raps--but, after all, one can't expect those sort of people to talk quite like we do ourselves, _can_ one?

_Lady Cantire._ Is that Mr. Spurrell you are finding fault with, Albinia? It is curious that _you_ should be the one person here who---- I consider him a very worthy and talented young man, and I shall most certainly ask him to dinner--or _lunch_, at all events--as soon as we return. I dare say Lady Rhoda will not object to come and meet him.

_Lady Rhoda._ Rather not. _I_'ll come, like a shot!

_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). I suppose it's very silly of me to be so prejudiced. n.o.body else seems to mind him!

_Miss Spelwane_ (_crossing over to them_). Oh, Lady Culverin, Lady Lullington has such a _delightful_ idea--she's just been saying how very, very nice it would be if Mr. Spurrell could be persuaded to read some of his poetry aloud to us presently. _Do_ you think it could be managed?

_Lady Culverin_ (_in distress_). Really, my dear Vivien, I--I don't know _what_ to say. I fancy people would so _much_ rather talk--don't you think so, Rohesia?