_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._ _Podb._ (_with intense disgust_). How on earth are we going to get that beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, CULCHARD, do--you can talk the lingo best! _Culch._ (_who has had enough of_ PODBURY _for the present_). Talk to him yourself, my dear fellow, _I_'m not going to make a row. [_He gets in._ _Podb._ (_to Conductor_). Hi! sprechen sie Franzoesisch, oder was? _il-y-a quelque chose dans mon siege, dites-lui de_--what the deuce is the French for "clear out"? _Cond._ _Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vite alors!_ [_He thrusts PODBURY, protesting vainly, into the interieur, with two peasants, a priest and the elderly Englishwoman. The diligence starts again._ * * * * * AT THE ITALIAN OPERA.