_Lady Cantire_ (_magnanimously_). Well, we won't begin to quarrel the moment we meet; and you are forgetting your other guest. (_In an undertone._) Mr. Spurrell--the poet--wrote _Andromeda_. (_Aloud._) Mr. Spurrell, come and let me present you to my brother. _Sir Rupert._ Ah, how d'ye do? (_To himself, as he shakes hands._) What the deuce am I to say to this fellow? (_Aloud._) Glad to see you here, Mr. Spurrell--heard all about you--_Andromeda_, eh? Hope you'll manage to amuse yourself while you're with us; afraid there's not much you can do _now_ though. _Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Horse in a bad way; time they let me see it. (_Aloud._) Well, we must see, sir; I'll do all _I_ can. _Sir Rupert._ You see, the shooting's _done_ now. _Spurrell_ (_to himself, professionally piqued_). They might have waited till I'd seen the horse before they shot him! After calling me in like this! (_Aloud._) Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Rupert. I wish I could have got here earlier, I'm sure. _Sir Rupert._ Wish we'd asked you a month ago, if you're fond of shooting. Thought you might look down on sport, perhaps. _Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Sport? Why, he's talking of _birds_--not the horse! (_Aloud._) Me, Sir Rupert? Not _much_! I'm as keen on a day's gunning as any man, though I don't often get the chance now. _Sir Rupert_ (_to himself, pleased_). Come, he don't seem strong against the Game Laws! (_Aloud._) Thought you didn't look as if you sat over your desk all day! There's hunting still, of course. Don't know whether you ride? _Spurrell._ Rather so, sir! Why, I was born and bred in a sporting county, and as long as my old uncle was alive, I could go down to his farm and get a run with the hounds now and again. _Sir Rupert_ (_delighted_). Capital! Well, our next meet is on Tuesday--best part of the country; nearly all grass, and nice clean post and rails. You must stay over for it. Got a mare that will carry your weight perfectly, and I think I can promise you a run--eh, what do you say? _Spurrell_ (_to himself, in surprise_). He _is_ a chummy old cock! I'll wire old Spavin that I'm detained on biz; and I'll tell 'em to send my riding-breeches and dress-clothes down! (_Aloud._) It's uncommonly kind of you, sir, and I think I can manage to stop on a bit. _Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). Rupert must be out of his senses! It's bad enough to have him here till Monday! (_Aloud._) We mustn't forget, Rupert, how valuable Mr. Spurrell's time is; it would be too selfish of us to detain him here a day longer than---- _Lady Cantire._ My dear, Mr. Spurrell has already said he can _manage_ it; so we may all enjoy his society with a clear conscience. (Lady CULVERIN _conceals her sentiments with difficulty_.) And now, Albinia, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room and rest a little, as I'm rather overdone, and you have all these tiresome people coming to dinner to-night.