_Mrs. Chatteris._ I'd no idea you would mind anybody knowing, or I would never have dreamed of---- I've such a perfect _horror_ of gossip! It took me so much by surprise, that I simply couldn't resist. But I can easily tell Captain Thicknesse it was all a mistake; _he_ knows how fearfully inaccurate I always am. _Lady Maisie._ I would rather you said nothing more about it, please; it is really not worth while contradicting anything so utterly absurd. (_To herself._) That Gerald--Captain Thicknesse--of all people, should know of my letter! And goodness only knows what story she may have made out of it! _Mrs. Chatteris_ (_to herself, as she moves away_). I've been letting my tongue run away with me, as usual. She's _not_ the original of "Lady Grisoline," after all. Perhaps he meant Vivien Spelwane--the description was much more like _her_! _Pilliner_ (_who has just entered with some of the younger men, to_ Miss SPELWANE). What _are_ you doing with these chairs? Why are we all to sit in a circle, like Moore and Burgess people? You're _not_ going to set the poor dear Bishop down to play baby-games? How perfectly barbarous of you! _Miss Spelwane._ The chairs are being arranged for something much more intellectual. We are going to get Mr. Spurrell to read a poem to us, if you want to know. I _told_ you I should manage it. _Pilliner._ There's only one drawback to that highly desirable arrangement. The songster has unostentatiously retired to roost. So I'm afraid you'll have to do without your poetry this evening--that is, unless you care to avail yourself again of _my_ services? _Miss Spelwane_ (_indignantly_). It is too _mean_ of you. You must have told him! [_He protests his innocence._ _Lady Rhoda._ Archie, what's become of Mr. Spurrell? I particularly want to ask him something. _Bearpark._ The poet? He nipped upstairs--as I told you all along he meant to--to scribble some of his democratic drivel, and (_with a suppressed grin_) I don't _think_ you'll see him again this evening. _Captain Thicknesse_ (_to himself, as he enters_). She's keepin' a chair next hers in the corner there for somebody. Can it be for that poet chap?... (_He meets_ Lady MAISIE'S _eye suddenly_.) Great Scott! If she means it for _me_!... I've half a mind not to---- No, I shall be a fool if I lose such a chance! (_He crosses, and drops into the vacant chair next hers._) I _may_ sit here, mayn't I? _Lady Maisie_ (_simply_). I meant you to. We used to be such good friends; it's a pity to have misunderstandings. And--and I want to ask you what that silly little Mrs. Chatteris has been telling you at dinner about me. _Captain Thicknesse._ Well, she was sayin'--and I must say I don't understand it, after your tellin' me you knew nothing about this Mr. Spurrell till this afternoon---- _Lady Maisie._ But I don't. And I--I _did_ offer to explain, but you said you weren't curious!