Lady Maisie. I don't agree at all. However, it certainly is Phillipson, and she seems to have come out in search of me; so I had better see if she has any message.
Und. She hasn't. I'm positive she hasn't. She—she wouldn't walk like that if she had. (In feverish anxiety.) Lady Maisie, shall we turn back? She—she hasn't seen us yet!
Lady Maisie. Really, Mr. Blair! I don't quite see why I should run away from my own maid!... What is it, Phillipson?
[She advances to meet Phillipson, leaving Undershell behind, motionless.
Und. (to himself). It's all over! That confounded girl recognises me. I saw her face change! She'll be jealous, I know she'll be jealous—and then she'll tell Lady Maisie everything!... I wish to Heaven I could hear what she is saying. Lady Maisie seems agitated.... I—I might stroll gently on and leave them; but it would look too like running away, perhaps. No, I'll stay here and face it out, like a man! I won't give up just yet. (He sinks limply upon the bench.) After all, I've been in worse holes than this since I came into this infernal place, and I've always managed to scramble out—triumphantly, too! If she will only give me five minutes alone, I know I can clear myself; it isn't as if I had done anything to be ashamed of.... She's sent away that girl. She seems to be expecting me to come to her.... I—I suppose I'd better.
[He rises with effort, and goes towards Lady Maisie with a jaunty unconsciousness that somehow has the air of stopping short just above the knees.
COUNTING NOSES.
Between nose and nose a strange contest arose Concerning the smells from a brewery. Some thought them like Eau de Cologne, whilst their foes Denounced them as sickly and sewery. 'Twixt the Rhine, which (see Coleridge) washes Cologne, And that sweet "Cologne water" that scents it, How now shall the difference truly be known? Strange comparison! Reason resents it! Oh! what is an odour, and what is a "stink"? (As the outspoken schoolboy will dub it.) If man's nose is asked to decide, well, I think, In puzzlement pure man must—rub it! If the fragrance of "grains" will to some suggest drains, And to others bright Bendemeer's roses, Sanitation's big problem a puzzle remains, Since it all seems a question of noses.