[Phillipson returns.
Phillipson. Mr. Tredwell says you want to go already! It can't be true! Without even waiting for supper?
Undershell (gloomily). Why should I wait for supper in this house?
Phillipson. Well, I shall be there; I don't know if that's any inducement.
[She looks down.
Undershell (to himself). She is a singularly bewitching creature; and I'm starving. Why shouldn't I stay—if only to shame these Culverins? It will be an experience—a study in life. I can always go afterwards. I will stay. (Aloud.) You little know the sacrifice you ask of me, but enough; I give way. We shall meet—(with a gulp)—in the housekeeper's room!
Phillipson (highly amused). You are a comical little man. You'll be the death of me if you go on like that!
[She flits away.
Undershell (alone). I feel disposed to be the death of somebody! Oh, Lady Maisie Mull, to what a bathos have you lured your poet by your artless flattery—a banquet presided over by your aunt's butler!