[Undershell collapses; Mr. Adams enters, and steps into the chair vacated by the Chef, next to Mrs. Pomfret, with whom he converses.
Und. (to himself). To think that they may be discussing my book in the drawing-room at this very moment, while I—I—— (He chokes.) Ah, it won't bear thinking of! I must—I will get out of this cursed place! I have stood this too long as it is! But I won't go till I have seen this fellow Spurrell, and made him give me back my things. What's the time?... Ten! I can go at last. (He rises.) Mrs. Pomfret, will you kindly excuse me? I—I find I must go at once.
Mrs. Pomfr. Well, Mr. Undershell, Sir, you're the best judge; and, if you really can't stop, this is Mr. Adams, who'll take you round to the stables himself, and do anything that's necessary. Won't you, Mr. Adams?
Adams. So you're off to-night, Sir, are you? Well, I'd rather ha' shown you Deerfoot by daylight, myself; but there, I dessay that won't make much difference to you, so long as you do see the 'orse?
Und. (to himself). So Deerfoot's a horse! One of the features of Wyvern, I suppose; they seem very anxious I shouldn't miss it. I don't want to see the beast; but I daresay it won't take many minutes; and, if I don't humour this man, I shan't get a conveyance to go away in! (Aloud.) No difference whatever—to me. I shall be delighted to be shown Deerfoot; only I really can't wait much longer; I—I've an appointment elsewhere!
Adams. Right, Sir; you get your 'at and coat, and come along with me, and you shall see him at once.
[Undershell takes a hasty farewell of Miss Phillipson and the company generally—none of whom attempts to detain him—and follows his guide. As the door closes upon them, he hears a burst of stifled merriment, amidst which Miss Phillipson's laughter is only too painfully recognisable.
"He suttingly didn't give me the impression of being a Gentleman."