F. Anstey - Lyre and Lancet - A Story in Scenes

Spurrell ( to himself ). I should just think it had. I've never been so taken up and put down in all my life! But it's over now; and, thank goodness, I'm not likely to see any more of 'em!

In the Entrance Hall at Wyvern.

Tredwell ( to Lady Cantire). This way, if you please, my lady. Her ladyship is in the Hamber Boudwore.

Lady Cantire. Wait. ( She looks round. ) What has become of that young Mr. Androm – ? ( Perceiving Spurrell, who has been modestly endeavouring to efface himself .) Ah, there he is! Now, come along, and be presented to my sister-in-law. She'll be enchanted to know you!

Spurrell. But indeed, my lady, I – I think I'd better wait till she sends for me.

Lady Cantire. Wait? Fiddlesticks! What! A famous young man like you! Remember Andromeda , and don't make yourself so ridiculous!

Spurrell ( miserably ). Well, Lady Cantire, if her ladyship says anything, I hope you'll bear me out that it wasn't —

Lady Cantire. Bear you out? My good young man, you seem to need somebody to bear you in ! Come, you are under my wing. I answer for your welcome – so do as you're told.

Spurrell ( to himself, as he follows resignedly ). It's my belief there'll be a jolly row when I do go in; but it's not my fault!

Tredwell ( opening the door of the Amber Boudoir ). Lady Cantire and Lady Maisie Mull ( To Spurrell.) What name, if you please, sir?

Spurrell ( dolefully ). You can say "James Spurrell" – you needn't bellow it, you know!

Tredwell ( ignoring this suggestion ). Mr. James Spurrell.

Spurrell ( to himself, on the threshold ). If I don't get the chuck for this, I shall be surprised, that's all!

In a Fly.

Undershell ( to himself ). Alone with a lovely girl, who has no suspicion, as yet, that I am the poet whose songs have thrilled her with admiration! Could any situation be more romantic? I think I must keep up this little mystification as long as possible.

Phillipson ( to herself ). I wonder who he is? Somebody's Man, I suppose. I do believe he's struck with me. Well, I've no objection. I don't see why I shouldn't forget Jim now and then – he's quite forgotten me! ( Aloud. ) They might have sent a decent carriage for us instead of this ramshackle old summerhouse. We shall be hours getting to the house at this rate!

Undershell ( gallantly ). For my part, I care not how long we may be. I feel so unspeakably content to be where I am.

Phillipson ( disdainfully ). In this mouldy, lumbering old concern? You must be rather easily contented, then!

Undershell ( dreamily ). It travels only too swiftly. To me it is a veritable enchanted car, drawn by a magic steed.

Phillipson. I don't know whether he's magic – but I'm sure he's lame. And stuffiness is not my notion of enchantment .

Undershell. I'm not prepared to deny the stuffiness. But cannot you guess what has transformed this vehicle for me – in spite of its undeniable shortcomings – or must I speak more plainly still?

Phillipson. Well, considering the shortness of our acquaintance, I must say you've spoken quite plainly enough as it is!

Undershell. I know I must seem unduly expansive, and wanting in reserve; and yet that is not my true disposition. In general, I feel an almost fastidious shrinking from strangers —

Phillipson ( with a little laugh ). Really? I shouldn't have thought it!

Undershell. Because, in the present case, I do not – I cannot – feel as if we were strangers. Some mysterious instinct led me, almost from the first, to associate you with a certain Miss Maisie Mull.

Phillipson. Well, I wonder how you discovered that . Though you shouldn't have said "Miss" — Lady Maisie Mull is the proper form.

Undershell ( to himself ). Lady Maisie Mull! I attach no meaning to titles – and yet nothing but rank could confer such perfect ease and distinction. ( Aloud. ) I should have said Lady Maisie Mull, undoubtedly – forgive my ignorance. But at least I have divined you. Does nothing tell you who and what I may be?

Phillipson. Oh, I think I can give a tolerable guess at what you are.

Undershell. You recognize the stamp of the Muse upon me, then?

Phillipson. Well, I shouldn't have taken you for a groom exactly.

Undershell ( with some chagrin ). You are really too flattering!

Phillipson. Am I? Then it's your turn now. You might say you'd never have taken me for a lady's maid !

Undershell. I might – if I had any desire to make an unnecessary and insulting remark.

Phillipson. Insulting? Why, it's what I am ! I'm maid to Lady Maisie. I thought your mysterious instinct told you all about it?

Undershell ( 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!

Phillipson. And, after all, you've never told me who you are. Who are you?

Undershell ( 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!

Phillipson. Oh, I knew that much. But you let out just now you had to do with a Mews. You aren't a rough-rider, are you?

Undershell. 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.

Phillipson. I said so, didn't I? Don't you think it was rather clever of me to spot you, when you're not a bit horsey-looking?

Undershell ( with elaborate irony ). Accept my compliments on a power of penetration which is simply phenomenal!

Phillipson ( giving him a little push ). Oh, go along – it's all talk with you – I don't believe you mean a word you say!

Undershell ( to himself ). She's becoming absolutely vulgar. ( Aloud. ) I don't – I don't ; it's a manner I have; you mustn't attach any importance to it – none whatever!

Phillipson. What! Not to all those high-flown compliments? Do you mean to tell me you are only a gay deceiver, then?

Undershell ( in horror ). Not a deceiver , no; and decidedly not gay . I mean I did mean the compliments , of course. ( To himself. ) I mustn't let her suspect anything, or she'll get talking about it; it would be too horrible if this were to get round to Lady Maisie or the Culverins – so undignified; and it would ruin all my prestige ! I've only to go on playing a part for a few minutes, and – maid or not – she's a most engaging girl!

At a Back Entrance at Wyvern. The Fly has just set down Phillipson and Undershell.