"Searching every pocket but the right one."
Scene VIII.—The Station Yard at Shuntingbridge.
Lady Cant. (from the interior of the Wyvern omnibus, testily, to Footman). What are we waiting for now? Is my maid coming with us—or how?
Footman. There's a fly ordered to take her, my lady.
Lady Cant. (to Spurrell, who is standing below). Then it's you who are keeping us!
Spurr. If your ladyship will excuse me, I'll just go and see if they've put out my bag.
Lady Cant. (impatiently). Never mind about your bag. (To Footman.) What have you done with this gentleman's luggage?
Footman. Everything for the Court is on top now, my lady.
[He opens the door for Spurrell.
Lady Cant. (to Spurrell, who is still irresolute). For goodness' sake don't hop about on that step! Come in, and let us start.
Lady Maisie. Please get in—there's plenty of room!
Spurr. (to himself). They are chummy, and no mistake! (Aloud, as he gets in.) I do hope it won't be considered any intrusion—my coming up along with your ladyships, I mean!
Lady Cant. (snappishly). Intrusion! I never heard such nonsense! Did you expect to be asked to run behind? You really mustn't be so ridiculously modest. As if your Andromeda hadn't procured you the entrée everywhere!
[The omnibus starts.
Spurr. (to himself). Good old Drummy! No idea I was such a swell. I'll keep my tail up. Shyness ain't one of my failings. (Aloud to an indistinct mass at the further end of the omnibus, which is unlighted.) Er—hum—pitch dark night, my lady, don't get much idea of the country! (The mass makes no response.) I was saying, my lady, it's too dark to—— (The mass snores peacefully.) Her ladyship seems to be taking a snooze on the quiet, my lady. (To Lady Maisie.) (To himself.) Not that that's the word for it!
Lady Maisie (distantly). My Mother gets tired rather easily. (To herself.) It's really too dreadful; he makes me hot all over! If he's going to do this kind of thing at Wyvern! And I'm more or less responsible for him, too! I must see if I can't——It will be only kind. (Aloud, nervously.) Mr.—Mr. Blair!
Spurr. Excuse me, my lady, not Blair—Spurrell.
Lady Maisie. Of course, how stupid of me. I knew it wasn't really your name. Mr. Spurrell, then, you—you won't mind if I give you just one little hint, will you?
Spurr. I shall take it kindly of your ladyship, whatever it is.
Lady Maisie (more nervously still). It's really such a trifle, but—but, in speaking to Mamma or me, it isn't at all necessary to say 'my lady' or 'your ladyship.' I—I mean, it sounds rather, well—formal, don't you know!
Spurr. (to himself). She's going to be chummy now! (Aloud.) I thought, on a first acquaintance, it was only manners.
Lady Maisie. Oh—manners? yes, I—I daresay—but still—but still—not at Wyvern, don't you know. If you like, you can call Mamma 'Lady Cantire,' and me 'Lady Maisie,' and, of course, my Aunt will be 'Lady Culverin,' but—but if there are other people staying in the house, you needn't call them anything, do you see?
Spurr. (to himself). I'm not likely to have the chance! (Aloud.) Well, if you're sure they won't mind it, because I'm not used to this sort of thing, so I put myself in your hands,—for, of course, you know what brought me down here?
Lady Maisie (to herself). He means my foolish letter! Oh, I must put a stop to that at once! (In a hurried undertone.) Yes—yes; I—I think I do. I mean, I do know—but—but please forget it—indeed you must!
Spurr. (to himself). Forget I've come down as a vet? The Culverins will take care I don't forget that! (Aloud.) But, I say, it's all very well; but how can I? Why, look here; I was told I was to come down here on purpose to——.
Lady Maisie (on thorns). I know—you needn't tell me! And don't speak so loud! Mamma might hear!
Spurr. (puzzled). What if she did? Why, I thought her la—your Mother knew!
Lady Maisie (to herself). He actually thinks I should tell Mamma! Oh, how dense he is! (Aloud.) Yes—yes—of course she knows—but—but you might wake her! And—and please don't allude to it again—to me or—or anyone. (To herself.) That I should have to beg him to be silent like this! But what can I do? Goodness only knows what he mightn't say, if I don't warn him!
Spurr. (nettled). I don't mind who knows. I'm not ashamed of it, Lady Maisie—whatever you may be!
Lady Maisie (to herself, exasperated). He dares to imply that I've done something to be ashamed of! (Aloud; haughtily.) I'm not ashamed—why should I be? Only—oh, can't you really understand that—that one may do things which one wouldn't care to be reminded of publicly? I don't wish it—isn't that enough?
Spurr. (to himself). I see what she's at now—doesn't want it to come out that she's travelled down here with a vet! (Aloud, stiffly.) A lady's wish is enough for me at anytime. If you're sorry for having gone out of your way to be friendly, why, I'm not the person to take advantage of it. I hope I know how to behave.
[He takes refuge in offended silence.
Lady Maisie (to herself). Why did I say anything at all! I've only made things worse—I've let him see that he has an advantage. And he's certain to use it sooner or later—unless I am civil to him. I've offended him now—and I shall have to make it up with him!
Spurr. (to himself). I thought all along she didn't seem as chummy as her mother—but to turn round on me like this!
Lady Cant. (waking up). Well, Mr. Andromeda, I should have thought you and my daughter might have found some subject in common; but I haven't heard a word from either of you since we left the station.
Lady Maisie (to herself). That's some comfort! (Aloud.) You must have had a nap, Mamma. We—we have been talking.
Spurr. Oh yes, we have been talking, I can assure you—er—Lady Cantire!
Lady Cant. Dear me. Well, Maisie, I hope the conversation was entertaining?
Lady Maisie. M-most entertaining, Mamma!
Lady Cant. I'm quite sorry I missed it. (The omnibus stops.) Wyvern at last! But what a journey it's been, to be sure!
Spurr. (to himself). I should just think it had. I've never been so taken up and put down in all my life! But it's over now; and, thank goodness, I'm not likely to see any more of 'em!
[He gets out with alacrity.
