Perkins (who has been cautioned always to speak the truth, on pain of losing her place, warily).  “OH YES, MY LADY, IT SUITS YOUR LADYSHIP QUITE—­AS ONE MAY SAY—­QUITE ‘DOWN TO THE GROUND!’”]

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO.  XXV.

SCENE—­Near Torcello.  CULCHARD and PODBURY are seated side by side in the gondola, which is threading its way between low banks, bright with clumps of Michaelmas daisies and pomegranate-trees laden with red fruit.  Both CULCHARD and PODBURY are secretly nervous and anxious for encouragement.

Podbury (humming “In Old Madrid” with sentiment).  La-doodle-um-La-doodle-oo:  La-doodle-um-te-dumpty-loodle-oo!  I think she rather seemed to like me—­those first days at Brussels, don’t you?

Culchard (absently).  Did she?  I daresay. (Whistling “The Wedding March” softly.) Few-fee; di-fee-fee-few-few; few-fiddledy-fee-fiddledy-few-few-few-fee.  I fancy I’m right in my theory, eh?

Podb. Oh, I should say so—­yes. What theory?

Culch. (annoyed).  What theory?  Why, the one I’ve been explaining to you for the last ten minutes!—­that all this harshness of hers lately is really, when you come to analyse it, a decidedly encouraging symptom.

Podb. But I shouldn’t nave said Miss TROTTER was exactly harsh to me—­lately, at all events.

Culch. (with impatience).  Miss TROTTER!  You!  What an egotist you are, my dear fellow!  I was referring to myself and Miss PRENDERGAST. And you can’t deny that, both at Nuremberg and Constance, she—­

Podb. (with careless optimism).  Oh, she’ll come round all right, never fear.  I only wish I was half as safe with Miss TROTTER!

Culch. (mollified).  Don’t be too downhearted, my dear PODBURY.  I happen to know that she likes you—­she told me as much last night.  Did Miss PRENDERGAST—­er—­say anything to that effect about me?

Podb. Well,—­not exactly, old chap—­not to me, at least.  But I say, Miss TROTTER didn’t tell you that?  Not really?  Hooray!  Then it’s all right—­she may have me, after all!

Culch. (chillingly).  I should advise you not to be over confident. (A silence follows, which endures until they reach the landing-steps at Torcello.) They are here, you see—­those are evidently their gondolas, I recognise those two cloaks.  Now the best thing we can do is to separate.

Podb. (springing out).  Right you are! (To himself.) I’ll draw the church first, and see if she’s there. (Approaches the door of Santa Maria:  a Voice within, apparently reading aloud:  “Six balls, or rather almonds, of purple marble veined with white are set around the edge of the pulpit, and form its only decoration") HYPATIA, by Jove!  Narrow shave that! [He goes round to back.