_Lady Cantire_ (_after a silence_). Maisie, what does all this mean? No _nonsense_, now! What brought Gerald Thicknesse back? _Lady Maisie._ I _suppose_ the dog-cart, mamma. He missed his train, you know. I don't think he minds--much. _Lady Cantire._ Let me tell you _this_, my dear. It is a great deal more than you _deserve_ after---- How long has he come back for? _Lady Maisie._ Only a few hours; but--but from things he said, I fancy he would stay on longer--if Aunt Albinia asked him. _Lady Cantire._ Then we may consider that settled; he stays. (Lady CULVERIN _appears_.) Here _is_ your aunt. You had better leave us, my dear. _Somewhat later; the Party have assembled for Lunch._ _Sir Rupert_ (_to his wife_). Well, my dear, I've seen that young Spurrell (smart fellow he is, too, thoroughly up in his business), and you'll be glad to hear he can't find anything seriously wrong with Deerfoot. _Undershell_ (_in the background, to himself_). No more could I, for that matter! _Sir Rupert._ He's clear it isn't navicular, which Adams was afraid of, and he thinks, with care and rest, you know, the horse will be as fit as a fiddle in a very few days. _Undershell_ (_to himself_). Just exactly what I _told_ them; but the fools wouldn't believe _me_! _Lady Culverin._ Oh, Rupert, I _am_ so glad. How clever of that nice Mr. Spurrell! I was afraid my poor Deerfoot would have to be shot. _Undershell_ (_to himself_). She may thank me that he _wasn't_. And this other fellow gets all the credit for it. How like Life! _Lady Maisie._ And, Uncle Rupert, how about--about Phillipson, you know? Is it all right? _Sir Rupert._ Phillipson? Oh, why, 'pon my word, my dear, didn't think of asking. _Lady Rhoda._ But _I_ did, Maisie. And they met this mornin', and it's all settled, and they're as happy as they can be. Except that he's on the look out for a mysterious stranger, who disappeared last night, after tryin' to make desperate love to her. He is determined, if he can find him, to give him a piece of his mind. [UNDERSHELL _endeavours to conceal his extreme uneasiness_. _Pilliner._ And the whole of a horsewhip. He invited my opinion of it as an implement of castigation. Kind of thing, you know, that would impart "proficiency in the _trois temps_, as danced in the most select circles," in a single lesson to a lame bear. (_To himself._) I drew my little bow at a venture, and I'm hanged if it hasn't touched him up! There's _something_ fishy about this chap--I felt it all along. Still, I don't see what more I can do--or I'd do it, for poor old Gerry Thicknesse's sake. _Undershell_ (_to himself_). I don't stir a step out of this house while I'm here, that's all!