Undershell. I—er—moderately so. (To himself.) There's a female figure coming down the terrace steps. It's horribly like—— But that must be my morbid fancy; still, if I can get Lady Maisie away, just in case—— (Aloud.) D—don't you think sitting still becomes a little—er—monotonous after a time? Couldn't we——
[He rises, spasmodically.
Lady Maisie (rising too). Certainly; we have sat here quite long enough. It is time we went back.
Undershell (to himself). We shall meet her! and I'm almost sure it's—— I must prevent any—— (Aloud.) Not back, Lady Maisie! You—you promised to show me the orchid-house—you did, indeed!
Lady Maisie. Very well; we can go in, if you care about orchids. It's on our way back.
Undershell (to himself). This is too awful! It is that girl Phillipson. She is looking for somebody! Me! (Aloud.) On second thoughts, I don't think I do care to see the orchids. I detest them; they are such weird, unnatural, extravagant things. Let us turn back and see if there are any snowdrops on the lawn behind that hedge. I love the snowdrop, it is so trustful and innocent, with its pure green-veined—— Do come and search for snowdrops!
"DO COME AND SEARCH FOR SNOWDROPS!"
Lady Maisie. Not just now. I think—(as she shields her eyes with one hand)—I'm not quite sure yet—but I rather fancy that must be my maid at the other end of the walk.
Undershell (eagerly). I assure you, Lady Maisie, you are quite mistaken. Not the least like her!