PART X BORROWED PLUMES

In Undershell's Bedroom in the East Wing at Wyvern. Time—About 9 P.M.

The Steward's Room Boy (knocking and entering). Brought you up some 'ot water, sir, case you'd like to clean up afore supper.

Undershell. I presume evening dress is not indispensable in the housekeeper's room; but I can hardly make even the simplest toilet until you are good enough to bring up my portmanteau. Where is it?

Boy. I never 'eard nothink of no porkmanteau, sir!

Undershell. You will hear a good deal about it, unless it is forthcoming at once. Just find out what's become of it—a new portmanteau, with a white star painted on it.

[The Boy retires, impressed. An interval.

Boy (reappearing). I managed to get a few words with Thomas, our second footman, just as he was coming out o' the 'all, and he sez the only porkmanteau with a white star was took up to the Verney Chamber, which Thomas unpacked it hisself.

Undershell. Then tell Thomas, with my compliments, that he will trouble himself to pack it again immediately.

Boy. But Thomas has to wait at table, and besides, he says as he laid out the dress things, and the gen'lman as is in the Verney Chamber is a wearin' of 'em now, sir.

Undershell (indignant). But they're mine! Confound his impudence! Here, I'll write him a line at once. (He scribbles a note.) There, see that the gentleman of the Verney Chamber gets this at once, and bring me his answer.

Boy. What! me go into the dinin'-'all, with all the swells at table? I dursn't. I should get the sack from old Treddy.

Undershell. I don't care who takes it so long as it is taken. Tell Thomas it's his mistake, and he must do what he can to put it right. Say I shall certainly complain if I don't get back my clothes and portmanteau. Get that note delivered somehow, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (To himself, as the Boy departs, much against his will.) If Lady Culverin doesn't consider me fit to appear at her dinner-table, I don't see why my evening clothes should be more privileged!

In the Dining-hall. The table is oval; Spurrell is placed between Lady Rhoda Cokayne and Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris.

Mrs. Chatteris (encouragingly, after they are seated). Now, I shall expect you to be very brilliant and entertaining. I'll do all the listening for once in a way—though, generally, I can talk about all manner of silly things with anybody!

Spurrell (extremely ill at ease). Oh—er—I should say you were quite equal to that. But I really can't think of anything to talk about.

Mrs. Chatteris. That's a bad beginning. I always find the menu cards such a good subject, when there's anything at all out of the common about them. If they're ornamented, you can talk about them—though not for very long at a time, don't you think?

Spurrell (miserably). I can't say how long I could go on about ornamented ones—but these are plain. (To himself.) I can hear this waistcoat going already—and we're only at the soup!

Mrs. Chatteris. It is a pity. Never mind; tell me about literary and artistic people. Do you know, I'm rather glad I'm not literary or artistic myself; it seems to make people so queer-looking, somehow. Oh, of course I didn't mean you looked queer—but generally, you know. You've made quite a success with your Andromeda, haven't you? I only go by what I'm told—I don't read much myself. We women have so many really serious matters to attend to—arranging about dinners, and visits, and trying on frocks, and then rushing about from party to party. I so seldom get a quiet moment. Ah, I knew I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever know any one called Lady Grisoline?

Spurrell. Lady—er—Grisoline? No; can't say I do. I know Lady Maisie, that's all.

Mrs. Chatteris. Oh, and she was the original? Now, that is exciting! But I should hardly have recognised her—"lanky," you know, and "slanting green eyes." But I suppose you see everybody differently from other people? It's having so much imagination. I dare say I look green or something to you now—though really I'm not.

Spurrell (to himself). I don't understand more than about half she's saying. (Aloud.) Oh, I don't see anything particularly green about you.

Mrs. Chatteris (only partially pleased). I wonder if you meant that to be complimentary—no, you needn't explain. Now, tell me, is there any news about the Laureateship? Who's going to get it? Will it be Swinburne or Lewis Morris?

Spurrell (to himself). Never heard of the stakes or the horses either. (Aloud.) Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't been following their form—too many of these small events nowadays.

Mrs. Chatteris (to herself). It's quite amusing how jealous these poets are of one another! (Aloud.) Is it true they get a butt of sherry given them for it?

Spurrell. I've heard of winners getting a bottle or two of champagne in a bucket—not sherry. But a little stimulant won't hurt a crack when he comes in, provided it's not given him too soon; wait till he's got his wind and done blowing, you know.

Mrs. Chatteris. I'm taking that in. I know it's very witty and satirical, and I dare say I shall understand it in time.

Spurrell. Oh, it doesn't matter much if you don't. (To himself.) Pleasant kind of woman—but a perfect fool to talk to!

Mrs. Chatteris (to herself). I've always heard that clever writers are rather stupid when you meet them—it's quite true.

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). I should like her to see that I've got some imagination in me, though she does think me such an ass. (Aloud, to Lady Maisie.) Jolly old hall this is, with the banners, and the gallery, and that—makes you fancy some of those old mediæval Johnnies in armour—knights, you know—comin' clankin' in and turnin' us all out.

Lady Maisie (to herself). I do trust Mr. Spurrell isn't saying something too dreadful. I'm sure I heard my name just now. (Aloud, absently, to Captain Thicknesse.) No, did you really? How amusing it must have been!

Captain Thicknesse (aggrieved). If you'd done me the honour of payin' any attention to what I was sayin', you'd have found out it wasn't amusin'.

Lady Maisie (starting). Oh, wasn't it? I'm so sorry I missed it. I—I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. Do tell me again!

Captain Thicknesse, (still hurt). No, I won't inflict it on you—not worth repeatin'. And I should only be takin' off your attention from a fellow that does know how to talk.

Lady Maisie (with a guiltiness which she tries to carry off under dignity). I don't think I understand what you mean.

Captain Thicknesse. Well, I couldn't help hearin' what you said to your poet-friend before we went in about having to put up with partners; and it isn't what you may call flattering to a fellow's feelin's, being put up with.

Lady Maisie (hotly). It—it was not intended for you. You entirely misunderstood!

Captain Thicknesse. Dare say I'm very dense; but, even to my comprehension, it's plain enough that the reason why you weren't listenin' to me just now was that the poet had the luck to say somethin' that you found more interesting.

Lady Maisie. You are quite wrong—it's too absurd; I never even met Mr. Spurrell in my life till this afternoon. If you really must know, I heard him mention my name, and—and I wondered, naturally, what he could possibly be saying.

Captain Thicknesse. Somethin' very charmin', and poetical, and complimentary, I'm sure, and I'm makin' you lose it all. Apologise—shan't happen again.

Lady Maisie. Please be sensible, and let us talk of something else. Are you staying here long?

Captain Thicknesse. You will be gratified to hear I leave for Aldershot to-morrow. Meant to have gone to-day. Sorry I didn't now.

Lady Maisie. I think it was a thousand pities you didn't, as you seem to have stayed on purpose to be as stupid and unkind as you possibly can.

[She turns to her other neighbour, Lord Lullington.

Mrs. Chatteris (to Captain Thicknesse, who is on her other side). Oh, Captain Thicknesse, what do you think Mr. Spurrell has just told me? You remember those lines to Lady Grisoline that Mr. Pilliner made such fun of this morning? Well, they were meant for Lady Maisie! They're quite old friends, it seems. So romantic! Wouldn't you like to know how they came to meet?

Captain Thicknesse. Can't say I'm particularly curious—no affair of mine, don't you know. (To himself.) And she told me they'd never met before! Sooner I get back the better. Only in the way here.

Lady Maisie (turning to him). Well, are you as determined to be as disagreeable as ever? Oh yes, I see you are!

Captain Thicknesse. I'm hurt, that's what it is, and I'm not clever at hiding my feelin's. Fact is, I've just been told somethin' that—well, it's no business of mine, only you might have been a little more frank with an old friend, instead of leavin' it to come through somebody else. These things always come out, you know.

Lady Maisie (to herself). That wretch has been talking! I knew he would! (Aloud.) I—I know I've been very foolish. If I was to tell you some time——

Captain Thicknesse (hastily). Oh, no reason why you should tell me anything. Assure you, I—I'm not curious.

Lady Maisie. In that case I shall certainly not trouble you. (To herself.) He may think just what he pleases, I don't care. But, oh, if Mr. Spurrell dares to speak to me after this, I shall astonish him!

Lady Rhoda (to Spurrell). I say—I am in a funk. Only just heard who I'm next to. I always do feel such a perfect fool when I've got to talk to a famous person—and you're frightfully famous, aren't you?

Spurrell (modestly). Oh, I don't know—I suppose I am, in a sort of way, through Andromeda. Seem to think so here, anyhow.

Lady Rhoda. Well, I'd better tell you at once, I'm no good at poetry—can't make head or tail of it, some'ow. It does seem to me such—well, such footle. Awf'ly rude of me sayin' things like that!

"IT DOES SEEM TO ME SUCH—WELL, SUCH FOOTLE."

Spurrell. Is it? I'm just the same—wouldn't give a penny a yard for poetry, myself!

Lady Rhoda. You wouldn't? I am glad. Such a let-off for me! I was afraid you'd want to talk of nothin' else, and the only things I can really talk about are horses and dogs, and that kind of thing.

Spurrell. That's all right, then. All I don't know about dogs and horses you could put in a homœopathic globule—and then it would rattle!

Lady Rhoda. Then you're just the man. Look here, I've an Airedale at home, and he's losin' all his coat and——

[They converse with animation.

Spurrell (later—to himself). I am getting on. I always knew I was made for Society. If only this coat was easier under the arms!

Thomas (behind him—in a discreet whisper). Beg your pardon, sir, but I was requested to 'and you this note, and wait for an answer.

Spurrell (opening it, and reading). "Mr. Galfrid Undershell thinks that the gentleman who is occupying the Verney Chamber has, doubtless by inadvertence, put on Mr. Undershell's evening clothes. As he requires them immediately, he will be obliged by an early appointment being made, with a view to their return." (To himself.) Oh, Lor! Then it wasn't Sir Rupert, after all! Just when I was beginning to enjoy my evening, too. What on earth am I to say to this chap? I can't take 'em all off here!

[He sits staring at the paper in blank dismay.