Spurrell. Well, I was going to call her Sal; but a chap at the College thought the other would look more stylish if I ever meant to exhibit her. Andromeda was one of them Roman goddesses, you know.
Tanrake. Oh, I knew that right enough. Come and have a drink before you start – just for luck – not that you want that.
Spurrell. I'm lucky enough in most things, Tom; in everything except love. I told you about that girl, you know – Emma – and my being as good as engaged to her, and then, all of a sudden, she went off abroad, and I've never seen or had a line from her since. Can't call that luck, you know. Well, I won't say no to a glass of something.
The Countess of Cantire enters with her daughter, Lady Maisie Mull.
Lady Cantire (to Footman). Get a compartment for us, and two foot-warmers, and a second-class as near ours as you can for Phillipson; then come back here. Stay, I'd better give you Phillipson's ticket. (The Footman disappears in the crowd.) Now we must get something to read on the journey. (To Clerk.) I want a book of some sort – no rubbish, mind; something serious and improving, and not a work of fiction.
Clerk. Exactly so, ma'am. Let me see. Ah, here's Alone with the 'Airy Ainoo. How would you like that?
Lady Cantire (with decision). I should not like it at all.
Clerk. I quite understand. Well, I can give you Three 'Undred Ways of Dressing the Cold Mutton– useful little book for a family, redooced to one and ninepence.
Lady Cantire. Thank you. I think I will wait till I am reduced to one and ninepence.
Clerk. Precisely. What do you say to Seven 'Undred Side-splitters for Sixpence? 'Ighly yumerous, I assure you.
Lady Cantire. Are these times to split our sides, with so many serious social problems pressing for solution? You are presumably not without intelligence; do you never reflect upon the responsibility you incur in assisting to circulate trivial and frivolous trash of this sort?
Clerk (dubiously). Well, I can't say as I do, particular, ma'am. I'm paid to sell the books – I don't select 'em.
Lady Cantire. That is no excuse for you – you ought to exercise some discrimination on your own account, instead of pressing people to buy what can do them no possible good. You can give me a Society Snippets.
Lady Maisie. Mamma! A penny paper that says such rude things about the Royal Family!
Lady Cantire. It's always instructive to know what these creatures are saying about one, my dear, and it's astonishing how they manage to find out the things they do. Ah, here's Gravener coming back. He's got us a carriage, and we'd better get in.
Drysdale (to Undershell). Well, I don't see now where the insolence comes in. These people have invited you to stay with them —
Undershell. But why? Not because they appreciate my work – which they probably only half understand – but out of mere idle curiosity to see what manner of strange beast a Poet may be! And I don't know this Lady Culverin – never met her in my life! What the deuce does she mean by sending me an invitation? Why should these smart women suppose that they are entitled to send for a Man of Genius, as if he was their lackey? Answer me that!
Drysdale. Perhaps the delusion is encouraged by the fact that Genius occasionally condescends to answer the bell.
Undershell (reddening). Do you imagine I am going down to this place simply to please them?
Drysdale. I should think it a doubtful kindness, in your present frame of mind; and, as you are hardly going to please yourself, wouldn't it be more dignified, on the whole, not to go at all?
Undershell. You never did understand me! Sometimes I think I was born to be misunderstood! But you might do me the justice to believe that I am not going from merely snobbish motives. May I not feel that such a recognition as this is a tribute less to my poor self than to Literature, and that, as such, I have scarcely the right to decline it?
Drysdale. Ah, if you put it in that way, I am silenced, of course.
Undershell. Or what if I am going to show these Patricians that – Poet of the People as I am – they can neither patronise nor cajole me?
Drysdale. Exactly, old chap – what if you are?
Undershell. I don't say that I may not have another reason – a – a rather romantic one – but you would only sneer if I told you! I know you think me a poor creature whose head has been turned by an undeserved success.
Drysdale. You're not going to try to pick a quarrel with an old chum, are you? Come, you know well enough I don't think anything of the sort. I've always said you had the right stuff in you, and would show it some day; there are even signs of it in Andromeda here and there; but you'll do better things than that, if you'll only let some of the wind out of your head. I take an interest in you, old fellow, and that's just why it riles me to see you taking yourself so devilish seriously on the strength of a little volume of verse which – between you and me – has been "boomed" for all it's worth, and considerably more. You've only got your immortality on a short repairing lease at present, old boy!
Undershell (with bitterness). I am fortunate in possessing such a candid friend. But I mustn't keep you here any longer.
Drysdale. Very well. I suppose you're going first? Consider the feelings of the Culverin footman at the other end!
Undershell (as he fingers a first-class ticket in his pocket). You have a very low view of human nature! (Here he becomes aware of a remarkably pretty face at a second-class window close by). As it happens, I am travelling second.
Drysdale (at the window). Well, good-bye, old chap. Good luck to you at Wyvern, and remember – wear your livery with as good a grace as possible.
Undershell. I do not intend to wear any livery whatever.
Spurrell (coming out of the refreshment room). What, second – with all my exes. paid? Not likely! I'm going to travel in style this journey. No – not a smoker; don't want to create a bad impression, you know. This will do for me.
Tanrake (at the window). There – you're off now. Pleasant journey to you, old man. Hope you'll enjoy yourself at this Wyvern Court you're going to – and, I say, don't forget to send me that notice of Andromeda when you get back!
PART IV
RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS
In a First-class Compartment.
Spurrell (to himself). Formidable old party opposite me in the furs! Nice-looking girl over in the corner; not a patch on my Emma, though! Wonder why I catch 'em sampling me over their papers whenever I look up! Can't be anything wrong with my turn out. Why, of course, they heard Tom talk about my going down to Wyvern Court; think I'm a visitor there and no end of a duke! Well, what snobs some people are, to be sure!
Lady Cantire (to herself). So this is the young poet I made Albinia ask to meet me. I can't be mistaken, I distinctly heard his friend mention Andromeda. H'm, well, it's a comfort to find he's clean! Have I read his poetry or not? I know I had the book, because I distinctly remember