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?
[Illustration: "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!