Und. To be quite frank, I didn't trouble myself about him; my sole object was to retreat with dignity; he had got himself somehow or other into a false position he must get out of as best he could. After all, he would be none the worse for having filled My place for a few hours.
Lady Maisie (slowly). I see. It didn't matter to you whether he was suspected of being an impostor, or made to feel uncomfortable, or—or anything. Wasn't that a little unfeeling of you?
Und. Unfeeling! I allowed him to keep my evening clothes, which is more than a good many——!
Lady Maisie. At all events, he may have had to pay more heavily than you imagine. I wonder whether—— But I suppose anything so unromantic as the love affairs of a veterinary surgeon would have no interest for you?
Und. Why not, Lady Maisie? To the Student of Humanity, and still more to the Poet, the humblest love-story may have its interesting—even its suggestive—aspect.
Lady Maisie. Well, I may tell you that it seems Mr. Spurrell has long been attached, if not actually engaged, to a maid of mine.
Und. (startled out of his self-possession). You—you don't mean to Miss Phillipson?
Lady Maisie. That is her name. How very odd that you—— But perhaps Mr. Spurrell mentioned it to you last night?
Und. (recovering his sang-froid). I am hardly likely to have heard of it from any other quarter.
Lady Maisie. Of course not. And did he tell you that she was here, in this very house?