ask him here, then?

Lady Culverin. Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. Rohesia says that's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come.

Sir Rupert. So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no tie—or else a red one—if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up! You'll find you've made a mistake, Albinia, depend upon it.

Lady Culverin. Dear Rupert, aren't you just a little bit narrow? You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius—no matter what their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the masses against us. Rohesia thinks so; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, Rupert!

Sir Rupert. Oh, if Rohesia thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Saturday to Monday, she might do her share of the stemming at all events.

Lady Culverin. But you will be nice to him, Rupert, won't you?

Sir Rupert. I don't know that I'm in the habit of being uncivil to any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I grovel to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is; you must look after him yourself. I can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about; I've forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any of his Red Republican theories in my hearing, why——

Lady Culverin. Oh, but he won't, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite mild and inoffensive. Look at Shakespeare—the bust, I mean—and he began as a poacher!

Sir Rupert. Ah, and this chap would put down the Game Laws if he could, I dare say; do away with everything that makes the country worth living in. Why, if he had his way, Albinia, there wouldn't be——

Lady Culverin. I know, dear, I know. And you must make him see all that from your point. Look, the weather really seems to be clearing a little. We might all of us get out for a drive or something after lunch. I would ride, if Deerfoot's all right again; he's the only horse I ever feel really safe upon, now.

Sir Rupert. Sorry, my dear, but you'll have to drive then. Adams tells me the horse is as lame as ever this morning, and he don't know what to make of it. He suggested having Horsfall over, but I've no faith in the local vets myself, so I wired to town for old Spavin. He's seen Deerfoot before, and we could put him up for a night or two. (To Tredwell, the butler, who enters with a telegram.) Eh, for me? just wait, will you, in case there's an answer. (As he opens it.) Ah, this is from Spavin—h'm, nuisance! "Regret unable to leave at present, bronchitis, junior partner could attend immediately if required.—Spavin." Never knew he had a partner.

Tredwell. I did hear, Sir Rupert, as Mr. Spavin was looking out for one quite recent, being hasthmatical, m'lady, and so I suppose this is him as the telegram alludes to.

Sir Rupert. Very likely. Well, he's sure to be a competent man. We'd better have him, eh, Albinia?

Lady Culverin. Oh yes, and he must stay till Deerfoot's better. I'll speak to Pomfret about having a room ready in the East Wing for him. Tell him to come by the 4.45, Rupert. We shall be sending the omnibus in to meet that.

Sir Rupert. All right, I've told him. (Giving the form to Tredwell.) See that that's sent off at once, please. (After Tredwell has left.) By the way, Albinia, Rohesia may kick up a row if she has to come up in the omnibus with a vet, eh?

Lady Culverin. Goodness, so she might! but he needn't go inside. Still, if it goes on raining like this—I'll tell Thomas to order a fly for him at the station, and then there can't be any bother about it.

PART II
SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET

In the Morning Room at Wyvern. Lady Rhoda Cokayne, Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris, and Miss Vivien Spelwane are comfortably established near the fireplace. The Hon. Bertie Pilliner, Captain Thicknesse, and Archie Bearpark, have just drifted in.

Miss Spelwane. Why, you don't mean to say you've torn yourselves away from your beloved billiards already? Quite wonderful!

Bertie Pilliner. It's too horrid of you to leave us to play all by ourselves! We've all got so cross and fractious we've come in here to be petted!

[He arranges himself at her feet, so as to exhibit a very neat pair of silk socks and pumps.

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). Do hate to see a fellow come down in the mornin' with evenin' shoes on!

Archie Bearpark (to Bertie Pilliner). You speak for yourself, Pilliner. I didn't come to be petted. Came to see if Lady Rhoda wouldn't come and toboggan down the big staircase on a tea-tray. Do! It's clinkin' sport!

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a rowdy bullyraggin' ass like Archie!

Lady Rhoda Cokayne. Ta muchly, dear boy, but you don't catch me travellin' downstairs on a tea-tray twice—it's just a bit too clinkin', don't you know!

Archie Bearpark (disappointed). Why, there's a mat at the bottom of the stairs! Well, if you won't, let's get up a cushion fight, then. Bertie and I will choose sides. Pilliner, I'll toss you for first pick up—come out of that, do.

Bertie Pilliner (lazily). Thanks, I'm much too comfy where I am. And I don't see any point in romping and rumpling one's hair just before lunch.

Archie Bearpark. Well, you are slack. And there's a good hour still before lunch. Thicknesse, you suggest something, there's a dear old chap.

Captain Thicknesse (after a mental effort). Suppose we all go and have another look round at the gees—eh, what?

Bertie Pilliner. I beg to oppose. Do let's show some respect for the privacy of the British hunter. Why should I go and smack them on their fat backs, and feel every one of their horrid legs twice in one morning? I shouldn't like a horse coming into my bedroom at all hours to smack me on the back. I should hate it!

Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris. I love them—dear things! But still, it's so wet, and it would mean going up and changing our shoes too—perhaps Lady Rhoda——

[Lady Rhoda flatly declines to stir before lunch.

Captain Thicknesse (resentfully). Only thought it was better than loafin' about, that's all. (To himself.) I do bar a woman who's afraid of a little mud. (He saunters up to Miss Spelwane and absently pulls the ear of a Japanese spaniel on her knee.) Poo' little fellow, then!

Miss Spelwane. Poor little fellow? On my lap!

Captain Thicknesse. Oh, it—ah—didn't occur to me that he was on your lap. He don't seem to mind that.

Miss Spelwane. No? How forbearing of him! Would you mind