_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_ UNDERSh.e.l.l.) I wish to speak to my daughter. May I ask you to leave us?

_Undersh.e.l.l._ 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 a.s.sembled 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.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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.

[UNDERSh.e.l.l _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.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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.

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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_!

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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 gla.s.ses_). 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?

_Undersh.e.l.l_ (_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. Undersh.e.l.l'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?