Podb. I’ll risk it.  It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle you like that.  Come, out with it!

Culch. Well, if you must know, I was laughing....  Oh, he’ll never get those horses round in....  I was—­er—­rather amused by your evident assumption that I must have been rejected by Miss PRENDERGAST.

Podb. Oh, was that it?  And you’re nothing of the kind, eh? [He chuckles again.

Culch. (with dignity).  No doubt you will find it very singular; but, as a matter of fact, she—­well, she most certainly did not discourage my pretensions.

Podb. The deuce she didn’t!  Did she tell you RUSKIN’s ideas about courtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be under vow for her, by any chance?

Culch. This is too bad, PODBURY; you must have been there, or you couldn’t possibly know!

Podb. Much obliged, I’m sure.  I don’t listen behind doors, as a general thing.  I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, to prove your mettle, eh? [With another chuckle.

Culch. (furiously).  Take care—­or I may tell you more than you bargain for!

Podb. Go on—­never mind me.  Bless you, I’m under vow for her, too, my dear boy.  Fact!

Culch. That’s impossible, and I can prove it.  The service she demanded was, that I should leave Constance at once—­with you.  Do you understand—­with you, PODBURY!

Podb. (with a prolonged whistle).  My aunt!

Culch. (severely).  You may invoke every female relative you possess in the world, but it won’t alter the fact, and that alone ought to convince you—­

Podb. Hold on a bit.  Wait till you’ve heard my penance.  She told me to cart you off, Now, then!

Culch. (faintly).  If I thought she’d been trifling with us both like that, I’d never—­

Podb. She’s no end of a clever girl, you know.  And, after all, she may only have wanted time to make up her mind.

Culch. (violently).  I tell you what she is—­she’s a cold-blooded pedantic prig, and a systematic flirt!  I loathe and detest a prig, but a flirt I despise—­yes, despise, PODBURY!

Podb. (with only apparent irrelevance).  The same to you, and many of ’em, old chap!  Hullo, we’re going to stop at this inn.  Let’s get out and stretch our legs and have some coffee.

    [They do; on returning, they find the Italian Gentleman
    smiling blandly at them from inside the coupe.

The It.  G. Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla!  I success at your chairs.  I vish you a pleasure’s delay!

Podb. But I say, look here, Sir, we’re going on, and you’ve got our place!

The It.  G. Sank you verri moch.  I ’ope so. [He blows PODBURY a kiss.