_Lady Rhoda_ (_crossing her feet on the fender_). Well, we can't complain of havin' had a dull evenin', _can_ we? [Illustration: "Well, we can't complain of havin' had a dull evenin', _can_ we?"] _Lady Maisie_ (_taking a hand-screen from the mantelshelf_). Not altogether. Has--anything fresh happened since I left? _Lady Rhoda._ Nothing particular. ARCHIE apologised to this New Man in the Billiard Room. For the Booby Trap. We all told him he'd _got_ to. And Mr. CARRION BEAR, or BLUNDERSHELL, or whatever he calls himself--_you_ know--was so awf'lly gracious and condescendin' that I really thought poor dear old ARCHIE would have wound up his apology by punchin' his head for him. Strikes me, MAISIE, that mop-headed Minstrel Boy is a decided change for the worse. Doesn't it you? _Lady Maisie_ (_toying with the screen_). How do you _mean_, RHODA? _Lady Rhoda._ I meantersay I call Mr. SPURRELL----Well, he's real, anyway--he's a _man_, don't you know. As for the other, so _feeble_ of him missin' his train like he did, and turnin' up too late for everything! Now, _wasn't_ it? _Lady Maisie._ Poets _are_ dreamy and unpractical and unpunctual--it's their nature. _Lady Rhoda._ Then they should stay at home. Just see what a hopeless muddle he's got us all into! I declare I feel as if anybody might turn into somebody else on the smallest provocation after this. I _know_ poor VIVIEN SPELWANE will be worryin' her pillows like rats most of the night, and I rather fancy it will be a close time for poets with your dear mother, MAISIE, for some time to come. All this silly little man's fault! _Lady Maisie._ No, RHODA. Not his--_ours_. Mine and Mamma's. We ought to have felt from the first that there _must_ be some mistake, that poor Mr. SPURRELL couldn't _possibly_ be a poet! I don't know, though; people generally _are_ unlike what you'd expect from their books. I believe they do it on purpose! Not that that applies to Mr. BLAIR; he _is_ one's idea of what a poet should be. If he hadn't arrived when he did, I don't think I could ever have borne to read another line of poetry as long as I lived! _Lady Rhoda._ I _say_! Do you call him as good-lookin' as all _that_? _Lady Maisie._ I was not thinking about his looks, RHODA--it's his _conduct_ that's so splendid. _Lady Rhoda._ His conduct? Don't see anything splendid in missin' a train. I could do it myself if I tried? _Lady Maisie._ Well, I wish I could think there were many men capable of acting so nobly and generously as he did. _Lady Rhoda._ As how?