Podb. (eagerly).  But won’t you come?  Do.  I shall be awfully glad if you will!

Miss T. If it makes you so glad as all that, I believe I’ll come.  Though what you could say different, after Father had put it up so steep on you, I don’t know.  I’ll just go and fix myself first.

    [She goes.

Mr. T. (to PODBURY).  My only darter, Sir, and a real good girl.  We come over from the States, crossed a month ago to-day, and seen a heap already.  Been runnin’ all over Scotland and England, and kind of looked round Ireland and Wales, and now what we’ve got to do is to see as much as we can of Germany and Switzerland and It’ly, and get some idea of France before we start home this fall.  I guess we’re both of us gettin’ pretty considerable homesick already.  My darter was sayin’ to me on’y this evening at table d’hôte, “Father,” she sez, “the vurry first thing we’ll do when we get home is to go and hev a good square meal of creamed oysters and clams with buckwheat cakes and maple syrup.”  Don’t seem as if we could git along without maple syrup much longer. (Miss TROTTER returns.) You never mean going out without your gums?

Miss T. I guess it’s not damp here—­any—­(To PODBURY.) Now you’re going to be Mary, and Father and I have got to be the little lambs and follow you around.

    [They go out, leaving CULCHARD annoyed with himself and
    everybody else, and utterly unable to settle down, to his
    sonnet again.

IN AN UPPER CORRIDOR, TWO HOURS LATER.

Culch. (coming upon Podbury).  So you’ve got rid of your Americans at last, eh?

Podb. I was in no hurry, I can tell you.  She’s a ripping little girl—­tremendous fun.  What do you think she asked me about you?

Culch. (stiff, but flattered).  I wasn’t aware she had honoured me by her notice.  What was it?

Podb. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if you were my tutor.  My tutor! [He roars.

Culch. I hope you—­ah—­undeceived her?

Podb. Rather!  Told her it was t’other way round, and I was looking after you.  Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely dangerous.

Culch. If that’s your idea of a joke, all I can say is—­

    [He chokes with rage.

Podb. (innocently).  Why, my dear chap, I thought you wanted ’em kept out of your way!

    [CULCHARD slams his bedroom door with temper, leaving
    PODBURY outside, still chuckling.

* * * * *

THE WRONG OF SEARCH.

(A DREAM OF THE BRITISH INQUISITION.)

The unfortunate foreigner, travel-stained and suffering from the after-glow of a stormy passage, crawled up the gangway and was once more on land.  He carried in his hand a portmanteau.