_Pill._ There's only one drawback to that highly desirable arrangement. The bard, with prophetic foreknowledge of your designs, 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 Spelw. (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. _Capt. Thick._ 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! _Capt. Thick._ Didn't want you to tell me anything that perhaps you'd rather not, don't you know. Still, I _should_ like to know how this poet chap came to write a poem all about you, and call it "Lady Grisoline." if he never---- _Lady Maisie._ But it's too ridiculous! How _could_ he? When he never saw me, that I know of, in all his life before! _Capt. Thick._ He told Mrs. CHATTERIS you were the original of his "Lady Grisoline" anyway, and really---- _Lady Maisie._ He dared to tell her that? How disgracefully impertinent of him. (_To herself._) So long as he hasn't talked about my letter, he may say what he pleases! _Capt. Thick._ But what _was_ it you were goin' to explain to me? You said there was somethin'---- _Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). It's no use; I'd sooner die than tell him about that letter now! (_Aloud._) I--I only wished you to understand that, whatever I think about poetry--I detest poets! _Lady Cant._ Yes, as you say, Bishop, a truly Augustan mode of recreation. Still, Mr. SPURRELL doesn't seem to have come in yet, so I shall have time to hear anything you have to say in defence of your opposition to Parish Councils. [_The_ Bishop _resigns himself to the inevitable._ _Archie_ (_in_ PILLINER'S _ear_). Ink and flour--couldn't possibly miss him; the bard's got a matted head _this_ time, and no mistake.