Undershell. Quite the reverse, I assure you. (To himself.) Considering that it came from his own table!
Pilliner (to himself). I still don't understand how his clothes—— (Aloud.) Did you send your portmanteau on ahead, then, or what?
Undershell (blankly). Send my port—? I don't understand.
Pilliner. Oh, I only asked, because the other man said he was wearing your things.
Sir Rupert (as Undershell remains speechless). I see how it was—perfectly simple—rush for the train—porter put your luggage in—you got left behind, wasn't that it?
Undershell. I—I certainly did get separated from my portmanteau, somehow, and I suppose it must have arrived before me. (To himself.) Considering the pace of the fly-horse, I think I am justified in assuming that!
Pilliner (to himself). Ass I was not to hold my tongue!
Lady Maisie (in an undertone, to Captain Thicknesse). Gerald, you remember what I said some time ago—about poetry and poets?
Captain Thicknesse. Perfectly. And I thought you were quite right.
Lady Maisie. I was quite wrong. I didn't know what I was talking about. I do now. Good night. (She crosses to Undershell.) Good night, Mr. Blair, I'm so very glad we have met—at last!