GALFRID UNDERSHELL (_a minor poet_). JAMES SPURRELL, M.R.C.V.S. THE COUNTESS OF CANTIRE. LADY MAISIE MULL (_her daughter_). SIR RUPERT CULVERIN. LADY CULVERIN. LADY RHODA COKAYNE. MRS. BROOKE-CHATTERIS. MISS SPELWANE. THE BISHOP OF BIRCHESTER. LORD LULLINGTON. LADY LULLINGTON. MRS. EARWAKER. THE HONOURABLE BERTIE PILLINER. CAPTAIN THICKNESSE. ARCHIE BEARPARK. MR. SHORTHORN. DRYSDALE (_a journalist_). TANRAKE (_a job-master_). EMMA PHILLIPSON (_maid to_ LADY CANTIRE). MRS. POMFRET (_housekeeper at Wyvern Court_). MISS STICKLER (_maid to_ LADY CULVERIN). MISS DOLMAN (_maid to_ LADY RHODA COKAYNE). MLLE. CHIFFON (_maid to_ MISS SPELWANE). M. RIDEVOS (_chef at Wyvern_). TREDWELL (_butler at Wyvern_). STEPTOE (_valet to_ SIR RUPERT CULVERIN). THOMAS (_a footman_). ADAMS (_stud-groom_). CHECKLEY (_head coachman_). Steward's Room Boy, etc. LYRE AND LANCET A STORY IN SCENES PART I SHADOWS CAST BEFORE _In_ Sir RUPERT CULVERIN'S _Study at Wyvern Court. It is a rainy Saturday morning in February._ Sir RUPERT _is at his writing-table, as_ Lady CULVERIN _enters with a deprecatory air_. _Lady Culverin._ So _here_ you are, Rupert! Not _very_ busy, are you? I won't keep you a moment. (_She goes to a window._) Such a nuisance it's turning out wet, with all these people in the house, isn't it? _Sir Rupert._ Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded accounts, but--(_resignedly_)--if you think I ought to go and look after---- _Lady Culverin._ No, no; the men are playing billiards, and the women are in the morning-room--_they_'re all right. I only wanted to ask you about to-night. You know the Lullingtons, and the dear Bishop and Mrs. Rodney, and one or two other people are coming to dinner? Well, who ought to take in Rohesia? _Sir Rupert_ (_in dismay_). Rohesia! No idea she was coming down this week! _Lady Culverin._ Yes, by the 4.45. With dear Maisie. Surely you knew that? _Sir Rupert._ In a sort of way; didn't realize it was so near, that's all. _Lady Culverin._ It's some time since we had her last. And she wanted to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off. _Sir Rupert._ Put her off? Of course I shouldn't, Albinia. If my only sister isn't welcome at Wyvern at any time--I say at _any_ time--where the deuce is she welcome? _Lady Culverin._ I don't know, dear Rupert. But--but about the table? _Sir Rupert._ So long as you don't put her near me--that's all _I_ care about. _Lady Culverin._ I mean--ought I to send her in with Lord Lullington, or the Bishop? _Sir Rupert._ Why not let 'em toss up? Loser gets her, of course.