Culch. Perfectly, thanks.  My mind is being—­er—­stimulated here in the direction most congenial to it.

Podb. So’s mine.  By the way, have you got a book—­don’t mean a novel, but a regular improving book—­the stodgier the better—­to lend a fellow?

Culch. Well, I brought an Epitome of Herbert Spencer’s Synthetic Philosophy away with me to dip into occasionally.  It seems a very able summary, and you are welcome to it, if it’s of any use to you.

Podb. SPENCER, eh?—­he’s a stiff kind of old bird, ain’t he?  He’ll do me to-rights, thanks.

Culch. It strikes me, PODBURY, that you must find the time rather long, to want a book of that kind.  If you wish to resume our—­ah—­original relations, I am quite ready to overlook what I am sure was only a phase of not unnatural disappointment.

Podb. (cheerily).  Oh, that’s all right, old fellow.  I’ve got over all that business. (He colours slightly.) How soon did you think of moving on?

Culch. (briskly).  As soon as you please.  We might start for Constance to-morrow, if you like.

Podb. (hesitating) Well, you see, it’s just this:  there’s a fellow staying at my hotel—­PRENDERGAST, his name is—­rattling good sort—­and I’ve rather chummed up with him, and—­and he’s travelling with a relation of his, and—­well, the fact is, they rather made a point of my going on to Constance with them, don’t you see?  But I daresay we could work it so as to go on all together.  I’ll see what they say about it.

Culch. (stiffly).  I’m exceedingly obliged—­but so large a party is scarcely—­however, I’ll let you know whether I can join you or not this evening.  Are you—­er—­going anywhere in particular just now?

Podb. Well, yes.  I’ve got to meet PRENDERGAST at the Cafe Noris.  We’re going to beat up some stables, and see if we can’t hire a couple of gees for an hour or two before dinner.  Do you feel inclined for a tittup?

Culch. Thanks, but I am no equestrian. (To himself, after PODBURY’s departure.) He seems to manage well enough without me.  And yet I do think my society would be more good for him than—.  Why did he want to borrow that book, though?  Can my influence after all—­ (He walks on thoughtfully, till he finds himself before an optician’s window in which a mechanical monkey is looking through a miniature telescope; the monkey suddenly turns its head and gibbers at him.  This familiarity depresses him, and he moves away, feeling lonelier than ever.)

ON THE TERRACE OF THE BURG.  HALF AN HOUR LATER.