Miss Spelwane (coldly). He knows how to do some very exquisite poetry with one of them, at all events. I've been reading it, and I think it perfectly marvellous!

Pill. I see what it is, you're preparing to turn his matted head for him? I warn you you'll only waste your sweetness. That pretty little Lady Maisie's annexed him. Can't you content yourself with one victim?

Miss Spelw. Don't be so utterly idiotic! (To herself.) If Maisie imagines she's to be allowed to monopolise the only man in the room worth talking to!——

Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he watches Lady Maisie). She is lookin' prettier than ever! Forgotten me. Used to be friendly enough once, though, till her mother warned me off. Seems to have a good deal to say to that Poet fellow; saw her colour up from here the moment he came near; he's begun Petrarchin', hang him! I'd cross over and speak to her if I could catch her eye. Don't know, though; what's the use? She wouldn't thank me for interruptin'. She likes these clever chaps; don't signify to her if they are bounders, I suppose. I'm not intellectual. Gad, I wish I'd gone back to Aldershot!

Lady Cant. (by the tea-table). Why don't you make that woman of yours send you up decent cakes, my dear? These are cinders. I'm afraid you let her have too much of her own way. Now, tell me—who are your party? Vivien Spelwane! Never have that girl to meet me again, I can't endure her; and that affected little ape of a Mr. Pilliner—h'm! Do I see Captain Thicknesse? Now, I don't object to him. Maisie and he used to be great friends.... Ah, how do you do, Captain Thicknesse? Quite pleasant finding you here; such ages since we saw anything of you! Why haven't you been near us all this time?... Oh, I may have been out once or twice when you called; but you might have tried again, mightn't you? There, I forgive you; you had better go and see if you can make your peace with Maisie!

Capt. Thick. (to himself, as he obeys). Doosid odd, the Countess comin' round like this. Wish she'd thought of it before.

Lady Cant. (in a whisper). He's always been such a favourite of mine. They tell me his uncle, poor dear Lord Dunderhead, is so ill—felt the loss of his only son so terribly. Of course it will make a great difference—in many ways.

Capt. Thick. (constrainedly to Lady Maisie). How do you do? Afraid you've forgotten me.

Lady Maisie. Oh no, indeed! (Hurriedly.) You—you don't know Mr. Spurrell, I think? (Introducing them.) Captain Thicknesse.

Capt. Thick. How are you? Been hearin' a lot about you lately. Andromeda, don't you know; and that kind of thing.

Spurr. It's wonderful what a hit she seems to have made—not that I'm surprised at it, either; I always knew——

Lady Maisie (hastily). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, you haven't had any tea! Do go and get some before it's taken away.

[Spurrell goes.

Capt. Thick. Been tryin' to get you to notice me ever since you came; but you were so awfully absorbed, you know!

Lady Maisie. Was I? So absorbed as all that! What with?

Capt. Thick. Well, it looked like it—with talkin' to your poetical friend.

Lady Maisie (flushing). He is not my friend in particular; I—I admire his poetry, of course.

Capt. Thick. (to himself). Can't even speak of him without a change of colour. Bad sign that! (Aloud.) You always were keen about poetry and literature and that in the old days, weren't you? Used to rag me for not readin' enough. But I do now. I was readin' a book only last week. I'll tell you the name if you give me a minute to think—book everybody's readin' just now—no end of a clever book.

[Miss Spelwane rushes across to Lady Maisie.

Miss Spelw. Maisie, dear, how are you? You look so tired! That's the journey, I suppose. (Whispering.) Do tell me—is that really the author of Andromeda drinking tea close by? You're a great friend of his, I know. Do be a dear, and introduce him to me! I declare the dogs have made friends with him already. Poets have such a wonderful attraction for animals, haven't they?

[Lady Maisie has to bring Spurrell up and introduce him: Captain Thicknesse chooses to consider himself dismissed.

Miss Spelw. (with shy adoration). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I feel as if I must talk to you about Andromeda. I did so admire it!

Spurr. (to himself). Another of 'em! They seem uncommonly sweet on "bulls" in this house! (Aloud.) Very glad to hear you say so, I'm sure. I've seen nothing to touch her myself. I don't know if you noticed all her points——?

Miss Spelw. Indeed, I believe none of them were lost upon me; but my poor little praise must seem so worthless and ignorant!

Spurr. (indulgently). Oh, I wouldn't say that. I find some ladies very knowing about these things. I'm having a picture done of her.

Miss Spelw. Are you really? How delightful! As a frontispiece?

Spurr. Eh? Oh no—full length, and sideways—so as to show her legs, you know.

Miss Spelw. Her legs? Oh, of course—with "her roseal toes cramped." I thought that such a wonderful touch!

Spurr. They're not more cramped than they ought to be; she never turned them in, you know!

Miss Spelw. (mystified). I didn't mean that. And now tell me—if it's not an indiscreet question—when do you expect there'll be another edition?

Spurr. (to himself). Another addition! She's cadging for a pup now! (Aloud.) Oh—er—really—couldn't say.

Miss Spelw. I'm sure the first must be disposed of by this time. I shall look out for the next so eagerly!

Spurr. (to himself). Time I "off"ed it. (Aloud.) Afraid I can't say anything definite—and, excuse me leaving you, but I think Lady Culverin is looking my way.

Miss Spelw. Oh, by all means! (To herself.) I might as well praise a pillar-post! And after spending quite half an hour reading him up, too! I wonder if Bertie Pilliner was right; but I shall have him all to myself at dinner.

Lady Cant. And where is Rupert? too busy of course to come and say a word! Well, some day he may understand what a sister is—when it's too late. Ah, here's our nice unassuming young poet coming up to talk to you. Don't repel him, my dear!

Spurr. (to himself). Better give her the chance of telling me what's wrong with the horse, I suppose. (Aloud.) Er—nice old-fashioned sort of house this, Lady Culverin. (To himself.) I'll work round to the stabling presently.

Lady Culv. (coldly). I believe it dates from the Tudors—if that is what you mean.

Lady Cant. My dear Albinia, I quite