"Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, but——"

In the Morning-room. Time—About 1 P.M.

Undershell (to himself alone). I'm rather sorry that that Miss Spelwane couldn't stay. She's a trifle angular—but clever. It was distinctly sharp of her to see through that fellow Spurrell from the first, and lay such an ingenious little trap for him. And she has a great feeling for Literature—knows my verses by heart, I discovered, quite accidentally. All the same, I wish she hadn't intercepted those snowdrops. Now I shall have to go out and pick some more. (Sounds outside in the entrance hall.) Too late—they've got back from church!

Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris (entering with Lady Rhoda, Sir Rupert and Bearpark). Such a nice, plain, simple service—I'm positively ravenous!

Lady Rhoda. Struck me some of those chubby choir-boys wanted smackin'. What a business it seems to get the servants properly into their pew—as bad as boxin' a string of hunters! As for you, Archie, the way you fidgeted durin' the sermon was downright disgraceful!... So there you are, Mr. Blair; not been to church; but I forgot—p'raps you're a Dissenter, or somethin'?

Undershell (annoyed). Only, Lady Rhoda, in the sense that I have hitherto failed to discover any form of creed that commands my intellectual assent.

Lady Rhoda (unimpressed). I expect you haven't tried. Are you a—what d'ye call it?—a Lacedemoniac?

Undershell (with lofty tolerance). I presume you mean a "Laodicean." No, I should rather describe myself as a Deist.

Archie (in a surly undertone). What's a Deast when he's at home? If he'd said a Beast, now! (Aloud, as Pilliner enters with Captain Thicknesse.) Hullo, why, here's Thicknesse! So you haven't gone, after all, then?

Captain Thicknesse. What an observant young beggar you are, Bearpark! Nothin' escapes you. No, I haven't. (To Sir Rupert, rather sheepishly.) Fact, is, sir, I—I somehow just missed the train, and—and—thought I might as well come back, instead of waitin' about, don't you know.

Sir Rupert (heartily). Why, of course, my dear boy, of course! Never have forgiven you if you hadn't. Great nuisance for you, though. Hope you blew the fool of a man up; he ought to have been round in plenty of time.

Captain Thicknesse. Not the groom's fault, sir. I kept him waitin' a bit, and—and we had to stop to shift the seat and that, and so——

Undershell (to himself). Great blundering booby! Can't he see nobody wants him here? As if he hadn't bored poor Lady Maisie enough at breakfast! Ah, well, I must come to her rescue once more, I suppose!

Sir Rupert. Half an hour to lunch! Anybody like to come round to the stables? I'm going to see how my wife's horse Deerfoot is getting on. Fond of horses, eh, Mr.—a—Undershell? Care to come with us?

Undershell (to himself). I've seen quite enough of that beast already! (Aloud, with some asperity.) You must really excuse me, Sir Rupert. I am at one with Mr. Ruskin—I detest horses.

Sir Rupert. Ah? Pity. We're rather fond of 'em here. But we can't expect a poet to be a sportsman, eh?

Undershell. For my own poor part, I confess I look forward to a day, not far distant, when the spread of civilisation will have abolished every form of so-called Sport.

Sir Rupert. Do you, though? (After conquering a choke with difficulty.) Allow me to hope that you will continue to enjoy the pleasures of anticipation as long as possible. (To the rest.) Well, are you coming?

[All except Undershell follow their host out.

Undershell (alone, to himself). If they think I'm going to be patronised, or suppress my honest convictions——! Now I'll go and pick those—— (Lady Maisie enters from the conservatory.) Ah, Lady Maisie, I have been trying to find you. I had plucked a few snowdrops, which I promised myself the pleasure of presenting to you. Unfortunately they—er—failed to reach their destination.

Lady Maisie (distantly). Thanks, Mr. Blair; I am only sorry you should have given yourself such unnecessary trouble.

Undershell (detaining her, as she seemed about to pass on). I have another piece of intelligence which you may hear less—er—philosophically, Lady Maisie. Your bête noire has returned.

Lady Maisie (with lifted eyebrows). My bête noire, Mr. Blair?

Undershell. Why affect not to understand? I have an infallible instinct in all matters concerning you, and, sweetly tolerant as you are, I instantly divined what an insufferable nuisance you found our military friend, Captain Thicknesse.

Lady Maisie. There are limits even to my tolerance, Mr. Blair. I admit I find some people insufferable—but Captain Thicknesse is not one of them.

Undershell. Then appearances are deceptive indeed. Come, Lady Maisie, surely you can trust me!

[Lady Cantire enters.

Lady Cantire (in her most awful tones). Maisie, my dear, I appear to have interrupted an interview of a somewhat confidential character. If so, pray let me know it, and I will go elsewhere.

Lady Maisie (calmly). Not in the very least, mamma. Mr. Blair was merely trying to prepare me for the fact that Captain Thicknesse has come back; which was quite needless, as I happen to have heard it already from his own lips.

Lady Cantire. Captain Thicknesse come back! (To Undershell.) I wish to speak to my daughter. May I ask you to leave us?

Undershell. With pleasure, Lady Cantire. (To himself, as he retires.) What a consummate actress that girl is! And what a coquette!

Lady Cantire (after a silence). Maisie, what does all this mean? No nonsense, now! What brought Gerald Thicknesse back?

Lady Maisie. I suppose the dog-cart, mamma. He missed his train, you know. I don't think he minds—much.

Lady Cantire. Let me tell you this, my dear. It is a great deal more than you deserve after—— How long has he come back for?

Lady Maisie. Only a few hours; but—but from things he said, I fancy he would stay on longer—if Aunt Albinia asked him.

Lady Cantire. Then we may consider that settled; he stays. (Lady Culverin appears.) Here is your aunt. You had better leave us, my dear.

Somewhat later; the Party have assembled for Lunch.

Sir Rupert (to his wife). Well, my dear, I've seen that young Spurrell (smart fellow he is, too, thoroughly up in his business), and you'll be glad to hear he can't find anything seriously wrong with Deerfoot.

Undershell (in the background, to himself). No more could I, for that matter!

Sir Rupert. He's clear it isn't navicular, which Adams was afraid of, and he thinks, with care and rest, you know, the horse will be as fit as a fiddle in a very few days.

Undershell (to himself). Just exactly what I told them; but the fools wouldn't believe me!

Lady Culverin. Oh, Rupert, I am so glad. How clever of that nice Mr. Spurrell! I was afraid my poor Deerfoot would have to be shot.

Undershell (to himself). She may thank me that he wasn't. And this other fellow gets all the credit for it. How like Life!

Lady Maisie. And, Uncle Rupert, how about—about Phillipson, you know? Is it all right?

Sir Rupert. Phillipson? Oh, why, 'pon my word, my dear, didn't think of asking.

Lady Rhoda. But I did, Maisie. And they met this mornin', and it's all settled, and they're as happy as they can be. Except that he's on the look out for a mysterious stranger, who disappeared last night, after tryin' to make desperate love to her. He is determined, if he can find him, to give him a piece of his mind.

[Undershell endeavours to conceal his extreme uneasiness.

Pilliner. And the whole of a horsewhip. He invited my opinion of it as an implement of castigation. Kind of thing, you know, that would impart "proficiency in the trois temps, as danced in the most select circles," in a single lesson to a lame bear. (To himself.) I drew my little bow at a venture, and I'm hanged if it hasn't touched him up! There's something fishy about this chap—I felt it all along. Still, I don't see what more I can do—or I'd do it, for poor old Gerry Thicknesse's sake.

Undershell (to himself). I don't stir a step out of this house while I'm here, that's all!

Sir Rupert. Ha-ha! Athletic young chap that. Glad to see him in the field next Tuesday. By the way, Albinia, you've heard how Thicknesse here contrived to miss his train this morning? Our gain, of course; but still we must manage to get you back to Aldershot to-night, my boy, or you'll get called over the coals by your colonel when you do put in an appearance, hey? Now, let's see; what train ought you to catch?

[He takes up "Bradshaw" from a writing-table.

Lady Cantire (possessing herself of the volume). Allow me, Rupert, my eyes are better than yours. I will look out his trains for him. (After consulting various pages.) Just as I thought! Quite impossible for him to reach North Camp to-night now. There isn't a train till six, and that gets to town just too late for him to drive across to Waterloo and catch the last Aldershot train. So there's no more to be said.

[She puts "Bradshaw" away.

Captain Thicknesse (with undisguised relief). Oh, well, dessay they won't kick up much of a row if I don't get back till to-morrow,—or the day after, if it comes to that.

Undershell (to himself). It shan't come to that—if I can prevent it! Lady Maisie is quite in despair, I can see. (Aloud.) Indeed? I was—a—not aware that discipline was quite so lax as that in the British Army. And surely officers should set an example of——

[He finds that his intervention has produced a distinct sensation, and, taking up the discarded "Bradshaw" becomes engrossed in its study.

Captain Thicknesse (ignoring him completely). It's like this, Lady Culverin. Somehow I—I muddled up the dates, don't you know. Mean to say, got it into my head to-day was the 20th, instead of only the 18th. (Lamely.) That's how it was.

Lady Culverin. Delightful, my dear Gerald. Then we shall keep you here till Tuesday, of course!

Undershell (looking up from "Bradshaw," impulsively). Lady Culverin, I see there's a very good train which leaves Shuntingbridge at 3.15 this afternoon, and gets——

[The rest regard him with unaffected surprise and disapproval.

Lady Cantire (raising her glasses). Upon my word, Mr. Blair! If you will kindly leave Captain Thicknesse to make his own arrangements——!

Lady Maisie (interposing hastily). But, mamma, you must have misunderstood Mr. Blair! As if he would dream of—— He was merely mentioning the train he wishes to go by himself. Weren't you, Mr. Blair?

Undershell (blinking and gasping). I—eh? Just so, that—that was my intention, certainly. (To himself.) Does she at all realise what this will cost her?

Lady Culverin. My dear Mr. Blair, I—I'd no notion we were to lose you so soon; but if you're really quite sure you must go——

Lady Cantire (sharply). Really, Albinia, we must give him credit for knowing his own mind. He tells you he is obliged to go!

Lady Culverin. Then of course we must let you do exactly as you please.

Pilliner (to himself). Lady Maisie's a little brick! No notion she had it in her. No occasion to bother myself about the beggar now. "Let him alone and he'll go home, and carry his tail beneath him!"

[All except Miss Spelwane breathe more freely; Tredwell appears.

Lady Culverin. Oh, lunch, is it, Tredwell? Very well. By the bye, see that some one packs Mr. Undershell's things for him, and tell them to send the dog-cart round after lunch in time to catch the 3.15 from Shuntingbridge.

Archie (sotto voce, to Pilliner). We don't want any more missin' of trains, eh? I'll go round and see the cart properly balanced myself this time.

Pilliner (in the same tone). No, dear boy, you're not to be trusted! I'll see that done, then the bard and his train will be alike in one respect—neither of 'em 'll be missed!

Miss Spelwane (to herself, piqued.) Going already! I wish I had never touched his ridiculous snowdrops!

Lady Culverin. Well, shall we go in to lunch, everybody?

[They move in irregular order towards the dining-hall.

Undershell (in an undertone to Lady Maisie, as they follow last). Lady Maisie, I—er—this is just a little unexpected. I confess I don't quite understand your precise motive in suggesting so—so hasty a departure.

Lady Maisie (without looking at him). Don't you, Mr. Blair? Perhaps—when you come to think over it all quietly—you will.

[She passes on, leaving him perplexed.

Undershell (to himself). Shall I? I certainly can't say I do just—— Why, yes, I do! That bully Spurrell with his horsewhip! She dreads an encounter between us—and I should much prefer to avoid it myself. Yes; that's it, of course. She is willing to sacrifice anything rather than endanger my personal safety! What unselfish angels some women are! Even that sneering fellow Drysdale will be impressed when I tell him this.... Yes, it's best that I should go—I see that now. I don't so much mind leaving. Without any false humility, I can hardly avoid seeing that, even in the short time I have been amongst these people, I have produced a decided impression. And there is at least one—perhaps two—who will miss me when I am gone.

[He goes into the Dining-hall, with restored complacency.

THE END.

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