PART VI

ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES

_In the Entrance Hall at Wyvern._

_Tredwell_ (_to_ Lady CANTIRE). This way, if you please, my lady. Her ladyship is in the Hamber Boudwore.

_Lady Cantire._ Wait. (_She looks round._) What has become of that young Mr. Androm----? (_Perceiving_ SPURRELL, _who has been modestly endeavouring to efface himself_.) Ah, _there_ he is! Now, come along, and be presented to my sister-in-law. She'll be enchanted to know you!

_Spurrell._ But indeed, my lady, I--I think I'd better wait till she sends for me.

_Lady Cantire._ Wait? Fiddlesticks! What! A famous young man like you! Remember _Andromeda_, and don't make yourself so ridiculous!

_Spurrell_ (_miserably_). Well, Lady Cantire, if her ladyship _says_ anything, I hope you'll bear me out that it wasn't----

_Lady Cantire._ Bear you out? My good young man, you seem to need somebody to bear you _in_! Come, you are under _my_ wing. _I_ answer for your welcome--so do as you're told.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, as he follows resignedly_). It's my belief there'll be a jolly row when I _do_ go in; but it's not my fault!

_Tredwell_ (_opening the door of the Amber Boudoir_). Lady Cantire and Lady Maisie Mull (_To_ SPURRELL.) What name, if you please, sir?

_Spurrell_ (_dolefully_). You can say "James Spurrell"--you needn't _bellow_ it, you know!

_Tredwell_ (_ignoring this suggestion_). Mr. James Spurrell.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, on the threshold_). If I don't get the chuck for this, I _shall_ be surprised, that's all!

[_He enters._

_In a Fly._

_Undershell_ (_to himself_). Alone with a lovely girl, who has no suspicion, as yet, that I am the poet whose songs have thrilled her with admiration! _Could_ any situation be more romantic? I think I must keep up this little mystification as long as possible.

_Phillipson_ (_to herself_). I wonder who he is? _Somebody's_ Man, I suppose. I do believe he's struck with me. Well, I've no objection. I don't see why I shouldn't forget Jim now and then--he's quite forgotten me! (_Aloud._) They might have sent a decent carriage for us instead of this ramshackle old summerhouse. We shall be _hours_ getting to the house at this rate!

_Undershell_ (_gallantly_). For my part, I care not how long we may be. I feel so unspeakably content to be where I am.

_Phillipson_ (_disdainfully_). In this mouldy, lumbering old concern? You must be rather easily contented, then!

_Undershell_ (_dreamily_). It travels only too swiftly. To me it is a veritable enchanted car, drawn by a magic steed.

_Phillipson._ I don't know whether he's magic--but I'm sure he's lame. And stuffiness is not _my_ notion of _enchantment_.

_Undershell._ I'm not prepared to deny the stuffiness. But cannot you guess what has transformed this vehicle for me--in spite of its undeniable shortcomings--or must I speak more plainly still?

_Phillipson._ Well, considering the shortness of our acquaintance, I must say you've spoken quite plainly enough as it is!

_Undershell._ I know I must seem unduly expansive, and wanting in reserve; and yet that is not my true disposition. In general, I feel an almost fastidious shrinking from strangers----

_Phillipson_ (_with a little laugh_). Really? I shouldn't have thought it!

_Undershell._ Because, in the present case, I do not--I cannot--feel as if we _were_ strangers. Some mysterious instinct led me, almost from the first, to associate you with a certain Miss Maisie Mull.

_Phillipson._ Well, I wonder how you discovered _that_. Though you shouldn't have said "Miss"--_Lady_ Maisie Mull is the proper form.

_Undershell_ (_to himself_). Lady Maisie Mull! I attach no meaning to titles--and yet nothing but rank could confer such perfect ease and distinction. (_Aloud._) I should have said _Lady_ Maisie Mull, undoubtedly--forgive my ignorance. But at least I have divined you. Does nothing tell you who and what _I_ may be?

_Phillipson._ Oh, I think I can give a tolerable guess at what _you_ are.

_Undershell._ You recognize the stamp of the Muse upon me, then?

_Phillipson._ Well, I shouldn't have taken you for a groom exactly.

_Undershell_ (_with some chagrin_). You are really too flattering!

_Phillipson._ Am I? Then it's your turn now. You might say you'd never have taken me for a _lady's maid_!

_Undershell._ I might--if I had any desire to make an unnecessary and insulting remark.

_Phillipson._ Insulting? Why, it's what I _am_! I'm maid to Lady Maisie. I thought your mysterious instinct told you all about it?

_Undershell_ (_to himself--after the first shock_). A lady's maid! Gracious Heaven! What have I been saying--or rather, what _haven't_ I? (_Aloud._) To--to be sure it did. Of course, I quite understand _that_. (_To himself._) Oh, confound it all, I wish we were at Wyvern!

_Phillipson._ And, after all, you've never told me who _you_ are. Who _are_ you?

_Undershell_ (_to himself_). I must not humiliate this poor girl! (_Aloud._) I? Oh--a very insignificant person, I assure you! (_To himself._) This is an occasion in which deception is pardonable--even justifiable!

_Phillipson._ Oh, I knew _that_ much. But you let out just now you had to do with a Mews. You aren't a rough-rider, are you?

_Undershell._ N--not _exactly_--not a _rough_-rider. (_To himself._) Never on a horse in my life!--unless I count my _Pegasus_. (_Aloud._) But you are right in supposing I am connected with a muse--in one sense.

_Phillipson._ I _said_ so, didn't I? Don't you think it was rather clever of me to spot you, when you're not a bit horsey-looking?

_Undershell_ (_with elaborate irony_). Accept my compliments on a power of penetration which is simply phenomenal!

_Phillipson_ (_giving him a little push_). Oh, go along--it's all talk with you--I don't believe you mean a word you say!

_Undershell_ (_to himself_). She's becoming absolutely vulgar. (_Aloud._) I don't--I _don't_; it's a manner I have; you mustn't attach any importance to it--none whatever!

_Phillipson._ What! Not to all those high-flown compliments? Do you mean to tell me you are only a gay deceiver, then?

_Undershell_ (_in horror_). Not a _deceiver_, no; and decidedly not _gay_. I mean I _did_ mean the _compliments_, of course. (_To himself._) I mustn't let her suspect anything, or she'll get talking about it; it would be too horrible if this were to get round to Lady Maisie or the Culverins--so undignified; and it would ruin all my _prestige_! I've only to go on playing a part for a few minutes, and--maid or not--she's a most engaging girl!

[_He goes on playing the part, with the unexpected result of sending_ Miss PHILLIPSON _into fits of uncontrollable laughter_.

_At a Back Entrance at Wyvern. The Fly has just set down_ PHILLIPSON _and_ UNDERSHELL.

_Tredwell_ (_receiving_ PHILLIPSON). Lady Maisie's maid, I presume? I'm the butler here--Mr. Tredwell. Your ladies arrived some time back. I'll take you to the housekeeper, who'll show you their rooms, and where yours is, and I hope you'll find everything comfortable. (_In an undertone, indicating_ UNDERSHELL, _who is awaiting recognition in the doorway_.) Do you happen to know who it is _with_ you?

_Phillipson_ (_in a whisper_). I can't quite make him out--he's so flighty in his talk. But he _says_ he belongs to some Mews or other.

_Tredwell._ Oh, then _I_ know who he is. We expect him right enough. He's a partner in a crack firm of Vets. We've sent for him special. I'd better see to him, if you don't mind finding your own way to the housekeeper's room, second door to the left, down that corridor. (PHILLIPSON _departs_.) Good evening to you, Mr.--ah--Mr.----?

_Undershell_ (_coming forward_). Mr. Undershell. Lady Culverin expects me, I believe.

_Tredwell._ Quite correct, Mr. Undershell, sir. She do. Leastwise, I shouldn't say myself she'd require to see you--well, not _before_ to-morrow morning--but you won't mind _that_, I dare say.

_Undershell_ (_choking_). Not mind that! Take me to her at once!

_Tredwell._ Couldn't take it on myself, sir, really. There's no particular 'urry. I'll let her ladyship know you're 'ere; and if she wants you, she'll send for you; but, with a party staying in the 'ouse, and others dining with us to-night, it ain't likely as she'll have time for you till to-morrow.

_Undershell._ Oh, then whenever her ladyship should find leisure to recollect my existence, will you have the goodness to inform her that I have taken the liberty of returning to town by the next train?

_Tredwell._ Lor! Mr. Undershell, you aren't so pressed as all _that_, are you? I know my lady wouldn't like you to go without seeing you personally; no more wouldn't Sir Rupert. And I understood you was coming down for the Sunday!

_Undershell_ (_furious_). So did _I_--but not to be treated like this!

_Tredwell_ (_soothingly_). Why, _you_ know what ladies are. And you couldn't see Deerfoot--not properly, to-night, either.

_Undershell._ I have seen enough of this place already. I intend to go back by the next train, I tell you.

_Tredwell._ But there _ain't_ any next train up to-night--being a loop line--not to mention that I've sent the fly away, and they can't spare no one at the stables to drive you in. Come, sir, make the best of it. I've had my horders to see that you're made comfortable, and Mrs. Pomfret and me will expect the pleasure of your company at supper in the 'ousekeeper's room, 9.30 sharp. I'll send the steward's room boy to show you to your room.

[_He goes, leaving_ UNDERSHELL _speechless_.

_Undershell_ (_almost foaming_). The insolence of these cursed aristocrats! Lady Culverin will see me when she has time, forsooth! I am to be entertained in the servants' hall! _This_ is how our upper classes honour Poetry! I won't stay a single hour under their infernal roof. I'll walk. But where _to_? And how about my luggage?

[PHILLIPSON _returns_.

_Phillipson._ Mr. Tredwell says you want to go already! It _can't_ be true! Without even waiting for supper?

_Undershell_ (_gloomily_). Why should I wait for supper in this house?

_Phillipson._ Well, _I_ shall be there; I don't know if _that's_ any inducement.

[_She looks down._

_Undershell_ (_to himself_). She is a singularly bewitching creature; and I'm starving. Why _shouldn't_ I stay--if only to shame these Culverins? It will be an experience--a study in life. I can always go afterwards. I _will_ stay. (_Aloud._) You little know the sacrifice you ask of me, but enough; I give way. We shall meet--(_with a gulp_)--in the housekeeper's room!

_Phillipson_ (_highly amused_). You _are_ a comical little man. You'll be the death of me if you go on like that!

[_She flits away._

_Undershell_ (_alone_). I feel disposed to be the death of _somebody_! Oh, Lady Maisie Mull, to what a bathos have you lured your poet by your artless flattery--a banquet presided over by your aunt's butler!