_Lady Cantire._ Rupert, who is that you are talking to out there? I don't recognise his voice, somehow.

_Sir Rupert_ (_entering with_ UNDERSh.e.l.l). Ha, Rohesia, you've come down, then? slept well, I hope. I was talking to a gentleman whose acquaintance I know you will be very happy to make--at last. This is the genuine celebrity _this_ time. (_To_ UNDERSh.e.l.l.) Let me make you known to my sister, Lady Cantire, Mr. Undersh.e.l.l. (_As_ Lady CANTIRE _glares interrogatively_.) Mr. Clarion Blair, Rohesia, author of hum--ha--_Andromache_.

_Lady Cantire._ I thought we were given to understand last night that Mr. Spurrell--Mr. Blair--you must pardon me, but it's really so very confusing--that the writer of the--ah--volume in question had already left Wyvern.

_Sir Rupert._ Well, my dear, you see he is still here--er--fortunately for us. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave Mr. Blair to entertain you; got to speak to Adams about something.

[_He hurries out._

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). This must be Lady Maisie's mamma. Better be civil to her, I suppose; but I can't stay here and entertain her long! (_Aloud._) Lady Cantire, I--er--have an appointment for which I am already a little late; but before I go, I should like to tell you how much pleasure it has given me to know that my poor verse has won your approval; appreciation from----

_Lady Cantire._ I'm afraid you must have been misinformed, Mr.--a--Blair. There are so many serious publications claiming attention in these days of literary over-production that I have long made it a rule to read no literature of a lighter order that has not been before the world for at least ten years. I may be mistaken, but I infer from your appearance that your own work must be of a considerably more recent date.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). If she imagines she's going to snub Me----! (_Aloud._) Then I was evidently mistaken in gathering from some expressions in your daughter's letter that----

_Lady Cantire._ Entirely. You are probably thinking of some totally different person, as my daughter has never mentioned having written to you, and is not in the habit of conducting _any_ correspondence without my full knowledge and approval. I think you said you had some appointment; if so, pray don't consider yourself under any necessity to remain here.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ You are very good; I will not. (_To himself, as he retires._) Awful old lady, that! I quite thought she would know all about that letter, or I should never have---- However, I said nothing to compromise any one, luckily!

_Lady Culverin_ (_entering_). Good morning, Rohesia. So glad you felt equal to coming down. I was almost afraid--after _last night_, you know.

_Lady Cantire_ (_offering a cold cheekbone for salutation_). I am in my usual health, thank you, Albinia. As to last night, if you _must_ ask a literary Socialist down here, you might at least see that he is received with common courtesy. You may, for anything _you_ can tell, have advanced the Social Revolution ten years in a single evening!

_Lady Culverin._ My _dear_ Rohesia! If you remember, it was you yourself who----!

_Lady Cantire_ (_closing her eyes_). I am in no condition to _argue_ about it, Albinia. The slightest exercise of your own common sense would have shown you---- But there, no great harm has been done, fortunately, so let us say no more about it. I have something more agreeable to talk about. I've every reason to hope that Maisie and dear Gerald Thicknesse----

_Lady Culverin_ (_astonished_). Maisie? But I thought Gerald Thicknesse spoke as if----!

_Lady Cantire._ Very possibly, my dear. I have always refrained from giving him the slightest encouragement, and I wouldn't put any pressure upon dear Maisie for the world--still, I have my feelings as a mother, and I can't deny that, with such prospects as he has now, it _is_ gratifying for me to think that they may be coming to an understanding together at this very moment. She is showing him the grounds; which I always think are the great charm of Wyvern, so _secluded_!

_Lady Culverin_ (_puzzled_). Together! At this very moment! But--but surely Gerald has _gone_?

_Lady Cantire._ Gone! What nonsense, Albinia! Where in the world should he have gone to?

_Lady Culverin._ He _was_ leaving by the 10.40, I know. For Aldershot.

I ordered the cart for him, and he said good-bye after breakfast. He seemed so dreadfully down, poor fellow, and I quite concluded from what he said that Maisie must have----

_Lady Cantire._ Impossible, my dear, quite impossible! I tell you he is _here_. Why, only a few minutes ago, Mrs. Chatteris was telling me---- Ah, here she is to speak for herself. (_To_ Mrs. Chatteris, _who appears, arrayed for divine service_.) Mrs. Chatteris, did I, or did I _not_, understand you to say just now that my daughter Maisie----?

_Mrs. Chatteris_ (_alarmed_). But, _dear_ Lady Cantire, I had no idea you would disapprove. Indeed you seemed---- And really, though she certainly seems to find him rather well--_sympathetic_--I'm sure--_almost_ sure--there can be nothing serious--at present.

_Lady Cantire._ Thank you, my dear, I merely wished for an answer to my question. And you see, Albinia, that Gerald Thicknesse can hardly have gone yet, since he is walking about the grounds with Maisie.

_Mrs. Chatteris._ Captain Thicknesse? But he _has_ gone, Lady Cantire!

I saw him start. I didn't mean _him_.

_Lady Cantire._ Indeed? then I shall be obliged if you will say who it is you _did_ mean.

_Mrs. Chatteris._ Why, only her old friend and admirer--that little poet man, Mr. Blair.

_Lady Cantire_ (_to herself_). And I actually _sent_ him to her!

(_Rising in majestic wrath._) Albinia, whatever comes of this, remember I shall hold _you_ entirely responsible!

[_She sweeps out of the room; the other two ladies look after her, and then at one another, in silent consternation._

PART XXII

A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS

_In the Elizabethan Garden._ Lady MAISIE _and_ UNDERSh.e.l.l _are on a seat in the Yew Walk_. TIME--_About_ 11 A.M.

_Lady Maisie_ (_softly_). And you really meant to go away, and never let one of us know what had happened to you!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). How easy it is after all to be a hero!

(_Aloud._) That certainly _was_ my intention, only I was--er--not permitted to carry it out. I trust you don't consider I should have been to blame?

_Lady Maisie_ (_with shining eyes_). To _blame_? Mr. Blair! As if I could possibly do that! (_To herself._) He doesn't even see _how_ splendid it was of him!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself_). I begin to believe that I can do _no_ wrong in her eyes! (_Aloud._) It was not altogether easy, believe me, to leave without even having seen your face; but I felt so strongly that it was better so.

_Lady Maisie_ (_looking down_). And--do you still feel that?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ I must confess that I am well content to have failed. It was such unspeakable torture to think that you, Lady Maisie, _you_ of all people, would derive your sole idea of my personality from such an irredeemable vulgarian as that veterinary surgeon--the man Spurrell!

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself, with an almost imperceptible start_). I suppose it's only natural he should feel like that--but I wish--I _do_ wish he had put it just a little differently! (_Aloud._) Poor Mr.

Spurrell! perhaps he was not exactly----

_Undersh.e.l.l._ Not _exactly_! I a.s.sure 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 excessively 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!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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 commonplaces 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.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ 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.

_Undersh.e.l.l._ 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 cla.s.s 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----