Culch. Thank you.  I trust it will—­er—­have that effect. (To himself, after the Young Lady has left the terrace.) Now, that’s a very superior girl—­she has intellect, style, culture—­everything the ideal woman should have.  I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her before—­but such speculations are most unprofitable!  How clear her eyes looked through her pince-nez!  Blue-grey, like Athene’s own.  If I’d been with PODBURY, I should never have had this talk.  The sight of him would have repelled her at once.  I shall tell him when I take him that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends.  I shall spend most of to-morrow on this terrace.

    SCENE—­The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. 
    Evening.  PODBURY at the piano; BOB PRENDERGAST and his
    sister HYPATIA seated near him.

Podb. (chanting dolefully)—­

  Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
      What had the com-plex-i-on rich and rare,
  He went and took and caught the yeller ja-aun-ders—­
      And his complexion isn’t what it were!

Mr. and Miss Prendergast (joining sympathetically in chorus).  And his complexion isn’t what it were!

    [There is a faint knock at the door, and CULCHARD enters
    with a volume under his arm.  None of the three observes him,
    and he stands and listens stiffly as PODBURY continues,—­

  Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
      Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare,
  Eloped to Injia with ELIZA SA-AUN-DERS,
      As lived close by in Canonbury Square.

Culch. (advances to piano and touches PODBURY’s arm with the air of his better angel).  Er—­I have brought you the philosophical work I mentioned.  I will leave it for an occasion when you are—­er—­in a fitter frame of mind for its perusal.

Podb. Oh, beg pardon, didn’t see you, old fellow.  Awfully obliged; jam it down anywhere, and (whispering) I say, I want to introduce you to—­

Culch. (in a tone of emphatic disapproval).  You must really excuse me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party.  So good night—­or, rather—­er—­good-bye. [He withdraws.

Miss Hypatia P. (just as C. is about to close the door).  Please don’t stop, Mr. PODBURY, that song is quite too deliciously inane!

[CULCHARD turns as he hears the voice, and—­too late—­recognises his Athene of that afternoon.  He retires in confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears PODBURY sing the final verse.

  The moral is—­Now don’t you come from Fla-an-ders,
      If you should have complexions rich and rare;
  And don’t you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,
      Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!