_Mrs. Chatteris._ It _is_ a pity. Never mind; tell me about literary and artistic people. Do you know, I'm rather glad I'm not literary or artistic myself; it seems to make people so _queer-looking_, somehow. Oh, of course I didn't mean _you_ looked queer--but _generally_, you know. You've made quite a success with your _Andromeda_, haven't you? I only go by what I'm told--I don't read much myself. We women have so many really serious matters to attend to--arranging about dinners, and visits, and trying on frocks, and then rushing about from party to party. I so seldom get a quiet moment. Ah, I knew I wanted to ask you something. Did you ever know any one called Lady Grisoline? _Spurrell._ Lady--er--Grisoline? No; can't say I do. I know Lady Maisie, that's all. _Mrs. Chatteris._ Oh, and _she_ was the original? Now, that _is_ exciting! But I should hardly have recognised her--"lanky," you know, and "slanting green eyes." But I suppose you see everybody differently from other people? It's having so much imagination. I dare say _I_ look green or something to you now--though really I'm _not_. _Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I don't understand more than about half she's saying. (_Aloud._) Oh, I don't see anything particularly green about _you_. _Mrs. Chatteris_ (_only partially pleased_). I wonder if you meant that to be complimentary--no, you needn't explain. Now, tell me, is there any news about the Laureateship? Who's going to get it? Will it be Swinburne or Lewis Morris? _Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Never heard of the stakes or the horses either. (_Aloud._) Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't been following their form--too many of these small events nowadays. _Mrs. Chatteris_ (_to herself_). It's quite amusing how jealous these poets are of one another! (_Aloud._) Is it true they get a butt of sherry given them for it? _Spurrell._ I've heard of winners getting a bottle or two of champagne in a bucket--not sherry. But a little stimulant won't hurt a crack when he comes in, provided it's not given him too soon; wait till he's got his wind and done blowing, you know. _Mrs. Chatteris._ I'm taking that in. I know it's very witty and satirical, and I dare say I shall understand it in time. _Spurrell._ Oh, it doesn't matter much if you don't. (_To himself._) Pleasant kind of woman--but a perfect fool to talk to! _Mrs. Chatteris_ (_to herself_). I've always _heard_ that clever writers are rather stupid when you meet them--it's quite true. _Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself_). I should like her to see that I've got some imagination in me, though she _does_ think me such an ass. (_Aloud, to_ Lady MAISIE.) Jolly old hall this is, with the banners, and the gallery, and that--makes you fancy some of those old mediæval Johnnies in armour--knights, you know--comin' clankin' in and turnin' us all out.