Culch. (to himself).  She said she had a headache, and made her father and VAN BOODELER go out on the lake without her.  But she certainly gave me to understand that she might come out when the band played, if she felt better.  The question is, whether she means to feel better or not.  She is the most tantalising girl! I don’t know what to make of her.  Not a single reference, as yet, to that last talk we had at Bingen.  I must see if I can’t recall it to her memory—­if she comes.  I’ll wait here, on the chance of it—­we are not likely to be dis—.  Confound it all—­PODBURY! (with suppressed irritation as PODBURY comes up).  Well, do you want anything in particular?

Podb. (cheerfully, as he sits down).  Only the pleasure of your society, old chap.  How nicely you do put things!

Culch. The—­er—­fact is, I can’t promise to be a particularly lively companion just now.

Podb. Not by way of a change?  Ah, well, it’s a pity—­but I must put up with you as you are, I suppose.  You see—­(with a grin)—­I’ve got that vow to work out.

Culch. Possibly—­but I haven’t.  As I’ve already told you—­I retire.

Podb. Wobbled back to Miss TROTTER again, eh?  Matter of taste, of course, but, for my part, I think your first impression of her was nearer the truth—­she’s not what I call a highly cultivated sort of girl, y’ know.

Culch. You are naturally exacting on that point, but have the goodness to leave my first impressions alone, and—­er—­frankly, PODBURY, I see no necessity (now, at all events) to take that ridiculous—­hum—­penance too literally.  We are travelling together, and I imagine that is enough for Miss PRENDERGAST.

Podb. It’s enough for me—­especially when you make yourself so doosid amiable as this.  You needn’t alarm yourself—­you won’t have any more of my company than I can help; only I must say, for two fellows who came out to do a tour together, it’s—­ [Walks away, grumbling.

Later.  The band has finished playing; Miss TROTTER is on the bench with CULCHARD.

Miss T. And you mean to tell me you’ve never met anybody since you even cared to converse with?

Culch. (diplomatically).  Does that strike you as so very incredible?

Miss T. Well, it strikes me as just a little too thin.  I judged you’d go away, and forget I ever existed.

[Illustration:  “Ah, how little you know me!”]

Culch. (with tender reproach).  How little you know me!  I may not be an—­er—­demonstrative man, my—­er—­feelings are not easily roused, but, once roused, well—­(wounded)—­I think I may claim to possess an ordinary degree of constancy!

Miss T. Well, I’m sure I ought to feel it a vurry high compliment to have you going round grieving all this time on my account.