_Captain Thicknesse._ I'm hurt, that's what it is, and I'm not clever at hiding my feelin's. Fact is, I've just been told somethin' that--well, it's no business of _mine_, only you _might_ have been a little more frank with an old friend, instead of leavin' it to come through somebody else. These things always come out, you know. _Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). That wretch _has_ been talking! I knew he would! (_Aloud._) I--I know I've been very foolish. If I was to tell you some time---- _Captain Thicknesse_ (_hastily_). Oh, no reason why you should tell me anything. Assure you, I--I'm not curious. _Lady Maisie._ In that case I shall certainly not trouble you. (_To herself._) He may think just what he pleases, _I_ don't care. But, oh, if Mr. Spurrell dares to speak to me after this, I shall astonish him! _Lady Rhoda_ (_to_ SPURRELL). I say--I _am_ in a funk. Only just heard who I'm next to. I always do feel such a perfect fool when I've got to talk to a famous person--and you're _frightfully_ famous, aren't you? _Spurrell_ (_modestly_). Oh, I don't know--I suppose I _am_, in a sort of way, through _Andromeda_. Seem to think so _here_, anyhow. _Lady Rhoda._ Well, I'd better tell you at once, I'm no good at poetry--can't make head or tail of it, some'ow. It does seem to me such--well, such footle. Awf'ly rude of me sayin' things like that! [Illustration: "IT DOES SEEM TO ME SUCH--WELL, SUCH FOOTLE."] _Spurrell._ Is it? I'm just the same--wouldn't give a penny a yard for poetry, myself! _Lady Rhoda._ You wouldn't? I _am_ glad. _Such_ a let-off for me! I was afraid you'd want to talk of nothin' else, and the only things I can really talk about are horses and dogs, and that kind of thing. _Spurrell._ That's all right, then. All I don't know about dogs and horses you could put in a homoeopathic globule--and _then_ it would rattle! _Lady Rhoda._ Then you're just the man. Look here, I've an Airedale at home, and he's losin' all his coat and---- [_They converse with animation._ _Spurrell_ (_later--to himself_). I am getting on. I always knew I was made for Society. If only this coat was easier under the arms! _Thomas_ (_behind him--in a discreet whisper_). Beg your pardon, sir, but I was requested to 'and you this note, and wait for an answer. _Spurrell_ (_opening it, and reading_). "Mr. Galfrid Undershell thinks that the gentleman who is occupying the Verney Chamber has, doubtless by inadvertence, put on Mr. Undershell's evening clothes. As he requires them immediately, he will be obliged by an early appointment being made, with a view to their return." (_To himself._) Oh, Lor! Then it _wasn't_ Sir Rupert, after all! Just when I was beginning to enjoy my evening, too. What on earth am I to say to this chap? I _can't_ take 'em all off here! [_He sits staring at the paper in blank dismay._ PART XI TIME AND THE HOUR _In the Dining-hall._