Smith.

"Oh, tremendously! And the bit about the Lotus Pool--I thought
that so beautiful."

"I knew you would like that. It came to me, you know, from
without." He waved his hand to indicate the astral world.

They went out into the garden for tea. Mr. Barbecue-Smith was
duly introduced.

"Mr. Stone is a writer too," said Priscilla, as she introduced
Denis.

"Indeed!" Mr. Barbecue-Smith smiled benignly, and, looking up at
Denis with an expression of Olympian condescension, "And what
sort of things do you write?"

Denis was furious, and, to make matters worse, he felt himself
blushing hotly. Had Priscilla no sense of proportion? She was
putting them in the same category--Barbecue-Smith and himself.
They were both writers, they both used pen and ink. To Mr.
Barbecue-Smith's question he answered, "Oh, nothing much,
nothing," and looked away.

"Mr. Stone is one of our younger poets." It was Anne's voice.
He scowled at her, and she smiled back exasperatingly.

"Excellent, excellent," said Mr. Barbecue-Smith, and he squeezed
Denis's arm encouragingly. "The Bard's is a noble calling."