Lady Maisie (to Phillipson, who is brushing her hair). You are sure Mamma isn't expecting me? (Irresolutely.) Perhaps I had better just run in and say good night.
Phillipson. I wouldn't recommend it, really, my lady; her ladyship seems a little upset in her nerves this evening.
Lady Maisie (to herself). Il-y-à de quoi! (Aloud, relieved.) It might only disturb her, certainly.... I hope they are making you comfortable here, Phillipson?
Phill. Very much so indeed, thank you, my lady. The tone of the Room downstairs is most superior.
Lady Maisie. That's satisfactory. And I hear you have met an old admirer of yours here—Mr. Spurrell, I mean.
Phill. We did happen to encounter each other in one of the galleries, my lady, just for a minute; though I shouldn't have expected him to allude to it!
Lady Maisie. Indeed! And why not?
Phill. Mr. James Spurrell appears to have elevated himself to a very different sphere from what he occupied when I used to know him, my lady; though how and why he comes to be where he is, I don't rightly understand myself at present.
Lady Maisie (to herself). And no wonder! I feel horribly guilty! (Aloud.) You mustn't blame poor Mr. Spurrell, Phillipson; he couldn't help it!
Phill. (with studied indifference). I'm not blaming him, my lady. If he prefers the society of his superiors to mine, he's very welcome to do so; there's others only too willing to take his place!