[_He drops into a chair, dazed._
_Spurrell_ (_complacently_). It"s curious how that b.i.t.c.h"s fame seems to have spread. Why, even the old Bishop---- But, I say, you"re looking rather queer; anything the matter with you, old fellow?
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_faintly_). Nothing--nothing. I--I feel a little giddy, that"s all. I shall be better presently.
[_He conceals his face._
_Spurrell_ (_in concern_). It was having that basket down on your head like that. Too bad! Here, I"ll get you some water. (_He bustles about._) I don"t know if you"re aware of it, old chap, but you"re in a regular _dooce_ of a mess!
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_motioning him away irritably_). Do you suppose I don"t know _that_? For Heaven"s sake, don"t speak to me! let me alone!... I want to think--I want to think. (_To himself._) I see it all now! I"ve made a hideous mistake! I thought these Culverins were deliberately---- And all the time---- Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I"ve been!... And I can"t even explain!... The only thing to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the truth. It"s lucky I ordered that carriage!
(_Aloud, rising._) I"m all right now; and--and I can"t stay here any longer. I am leaving directly--directly!
_Spurrell._ You must give me time to get out of this toggery, old chap; you"ll have to pick me out of it like a lobster!
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_wildly_). The clothes? Never mind them now. I can"t wait. Keep them!
_Spurrell._ Do you really mean it, old fellow? If you _could_ spare "em a bit longer, I"d be no end obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady Rhoda to come and finish a talk we were having, and they"ve taken away my own things to brush, so I haven"t a rag to go down in except these; and they"d all think it so beastly rude if I went to bed now!
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_impatiently_). I tell you you may keep them, if you"ll only go away!
_Spurrell._ But where am I to send the things to when I"ve done with "em?
_Undersh.e.l.l._ What do I---- Stay, here"s my card. Send them to that address. Now go and finish your evening!
_Spurrell_ (_gratefully_). You _are_ a rattling good chap, and no mistake! Though I"m hanged if I can quite make out what you"re doing here, you know!
_Undersh.e.l.l._ It"s not at all necessary that you _should_ make it out.
I am leaving immediately, and--and I don"t wish Sir Rupert or Lady Culverin to hear of this--you understand?
_Spurrell._ Well, it"s no business of mine; you"ve behaved devilish well to me, and I"m not surprised that you"d rather not be seen in the state you"re in. I shouldn"t like it myself!
_Undersh.e.l.l._ State? _What_ state?
_Spurrell._ Ah, I _wondered_ whether you knew. You"ll see what I mean when you"ve had a look at yourself in the gla.s.s. I dare say it"ll come off right enough. I can"t stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully!
[_He goes out._
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_alone_). What does he mean? But I"ve no time to waste.
Where have they put my portmanteau? I can"t give up _everything_. (_He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room._) Ah, it"s in there. I"ll get it out, and put my things in. (_As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection in a cheval gla.s.s._) Wh--who"s that? Can this--this piebald horror possibly be--_me_? How----? Ah, it was _ink_ in that infernal basket--not water! And my hair"s full of flour! I _can"t_ go into a hotel like this, they"d think I was an escaped lunatic! (_He flies to a wash-hand stand, and scrubs and sluices desperately, after which he inspects the result in the mirror._) It"s not _nearly_ off yet! Will _anything_ get rid of this streakiness? (_He soaps and scrubs once more._) And the flour"s caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out before I am fit to be seen. (_He gradually, after infinite toil, succeeds in making himself slightly more presentable._) Is the carriage waiting for me all this time? (_He pitches things into his portmanteau in a frantic flurry._) What"s that? Some one"s coming!
[_He listens._
[Ill.u.s.tration: HE SUDDENLY COMES FACE TO FACE WITH HIS OWN REFLECTION.]
_Tredwell_ (_outside_). It"s my conviction you"ve been telling me a pack o" lies, you young rascal. For what hearthly business that feller Undersh.e.l.l could "ave in the Verney---- However, _I_"ll soon see how it is. (_He knocks._) Is any one in "ere?
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself, distractedly_). He mustn"t find me here!
Yet, where---- Ah, it"s the only place!
[_He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as_ TREDWELL _enters_.
_Tredwell._ The boy"s right. He _is_ in here; them candles is smouldering still. (_He relights one, and looks under the bed._) You"d better come out o" that, Undersh.e.l.l, and give an account of yourself--do you "ear me?... He ain"t under there! (_He tries the dressing-room door_; UNDERSh.e.l.l _holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle_.) Very well, sir, I know you"re _there_, and I"ve no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you"re wanted. I"ve "eard o" your goings-on from Mr. Adams, and I shall "ave to fetch Sir Rupert up to "ave a talk with you by and bye.
[_He turns the key upon him, and goes._
_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_to himself, overwhelmed, as the butler"s step is heard retreating._) And I came down here to a.s.sert the dignity of Literature!
PART XVI
AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE
_In the Chinese Drawing-room._ TIME--_About_ 9.45 P.M.
_Mrs. Earwaker._ Yes, dear Lady Lullington, I"ve always insisted on each of my girls adopting a distinct line of her own, and the result has been _most_ satisfactory. Louisa, my eldest, is literary; she had a little story accepted not long ago by _The Milky Way_; then Maria is musical--practices regularly three hours every day on her violin.
f.a.n.n.y has become quite an expert in photography--kodaked her father the other day in the act of trying a difficult stroke at billiards; a back view--but _so_ clever and characteristic!
_Lady Lullington_ (_absently_). A back view? How _nice_!
_Mrs. Earwaker._ He was the only one of the family who didn"t recognize it at once. Then my youngest Caroline--well, I must say that for a long time I was quite in despair about Caroline. It really looked as if there was no single thing that she had the slightest bent or inclination for. So at last I thought she had better take up religion, and make _that_ her speciality.
_Lady Lullington_ (_languidly_). Religion! How _very_ nice!
_Mrs. Earwaker._ Well, I got her a _Christian Year_ and a covered basket, and quant.i.ties of tracts, and so on; but, somehow, she didn"t seem to get _on_ with it. So I let her give it up; and now she"s gone in for poker-etching instead.
_Lady Lullington_ (_by an act of unconscious cerebration_).
Poker-etching! How very, _very_ nice!
[_Her eyelids close gently._
_Lady Rhoda._ Oh, but indeed, Lady Culverin, I thought he was perfectly charmin": not a bit booky, you know, but as clever as he can stick; knows more about terriers than any man I ever met!
_Lady Culverin._ So glad you found him agreeable, my dear. I was half afraid he might strike you as--well, just a little bit _common_ in his way of talking.
_Lady Rhoda._ P"raps--but, after all, one can"t expect those sort of people to talk quite like we do ourselves, _can_ one?
_Lady Cantire._ Is that Mr. Spurrell you are finding fault with, Albinia? It is curious that _you_ should be the one person here who---- I consider him a very worthy and talented young man, and I shall most certainly ask him to dinner--or _lunch_, at all events--as soon as we return. I dare say Lady Rhoda will not object to come and meet him.
_Lady Rhoda._ Rather not. _I_"ll come, like a shot!
_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). I suppose it"s very silly of me to be so prejudiced. n.o.body else seems to mind him!
_Miss Spelwane_ (_crossing over to them_). Oh, Lady Culverin, Lady Lullington has such a _delightful_ idea--she"s just been saying how very, very nice it would be if Mr. Spurrell could be persuaded to read some of his poetry aloud to us presently. _Do_ you think it could be managed?
_Lady Culverin_ (_in distress_). Really, my dear Vivien, I--I don"t know _what_ to say. I fancy people would so _much_ rather talk--don"t you think so, Rohesia?