_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! [_He goes on playing the part, with the unexpected result of sending_ Miss PHILLIPSON _into fits of uncontrollable laughter_. _At a Back Entrance at Wyvern. The Fly has just set down_ PHILLIPSON _and_ UNDERSHELL.