Phill. Well, I shouldn't have taken you for a groom exactly.
Und. (with some chagrin). You are really too flattering!
Phill. Am I? Then it's your turn now. You might say you'd never have taken me for a lady's maid!
Und. I might—if I had any desire to make an unnecessary and insulting remark.
Phill. Insulting? Why, it's what I am! I'm maid to Lady Maisie. I thought your mysterious instinct told you all about it?
Und. (to himself—after the first shock). A lady's maid! Gracious Heaven! What have I been saying—or rather, what haven't I? (Aloud.) To—to be sure it did. Of course, I quite understand that. (To himself). Oh, confound it all, I wish we were at Wyvern!
Phill. And, after all, you've never told me who you are. Who are you?
Und. (to himself). I must not humiliate this poor girl! (Aloud.) I? Oh—a very insignificant person, I assure you! (To himself.) This is an occasion in which deception is pardonable—even justifiable!
Phill. Oh, I knew that. But you let out just now you had to do with a Mews. You aren't a rough-rider, are you?
Und. N—not exactly—not a rough-rider. (To himself.) Never on a horse in my life!—unless I count my Pegasus. (Aloud.) But you are right in supposing I am connected with a muse—in one sense.