Undershell. Yes, I felt from the first that I could trust you—even with my life. And I cannot regret having told you, if it has enabled you to understand me more thoroughly. It is such a relief that you know all, and that there are no more secrets between us. You do feel that I only acted as was natural and inevitable under the circumstances?
Lady Maisie. Oh yes, yes. I—I dare say you could not help it. I mean you did quite, quite right!
Undershell. Ah, how you comfort me with your fresh girlish—— You are not going, Lady Maisie?
Lady Maisie (rising). I must. I ought to have gone before. My mother wants me. No, you are not to come too; you can go on and gather those snowdrops, you know.
[She walks slowly back to the house.
Undershell (looking after her). She took it wonderfully well. I've made it all right, or she wouldn't have said that about the snowdrops. Yes, she shall not be disappointed; she shall have her posy!
In the Morning-room. Half an hour later.
Lady Maisie (alone—to herself). Thank goodness, that's over! It was awful. I don't think I ever saw mamma a deeper shade of plum colour! How I have been mistaken in Mr. Blair! That he could write those lines—
"Aspiring unto that far-off Ideal,
I may not stoop to any meaner love,"
and yet philander with my poor foolish Phillipson the moment he met her! And then to tell mamma about my letter like that! Why, even Mr. Spurrell had more discretion—to be sure, he knew nothing about it—but that makes no difference! Rhoda was right; I ought to have allowed a margin—only I should never have allowed margin enough! The worst of it is that, if mamma was unjust in some things she said, she was right about one. I have disgusted Gerald. He mayn't be brilliant, but at least he's straightforward and loyal and a gentleman, and—and he did like me once. He doesn't any more—or he wouldn't have gone away. And it may be ages before I ever get a chance to let him see how dreadfully sorry—— (She turns, and sees Captain Thicknesse.) Oh, haven't you gone yet?