CULCH. (_to himself_). If Podbury won't come down to breakfast at a decent hour, he can't complain if I----I wonder if he heard Miss Trotter say she was thinking of coming here this morning. Somehow, I _should_ like that girl to have a more correct comprehension of my character. I don't so much mind her thinking me fastidious and exclusive. I dare say I _am_--but I _do_ object to being made out a hopeless melancholiac! (_He looks round the walls._) So these are Wiertz's masterpieces, eh? h'm. Strenuous, vigorous,--a trifle crude, perhaps. Didn't he refuse all offers for his pictures during his lifetime? Hardly think he could have been overwhelmed with applications for the one opposite. (_He regards an enormous canvas, representing a brawny and gigantic Achilles perforating a brown Trojan with a small mast._) Not a dining-room picture. Still, I like his independence--work up rather well in a sonnet. Let me see. (_He takes out note-book and scribbles._) "He scorned to ply his sombre brush for hire." Now if I read that to Podbury, he'd pretend to think I was treating of a shoe-black on strike! Podbury is so utterly deficient in reverence. [_Close by is a party of three Tourists--a Father and Mother, and a Daughter; who is reading to them aloud from the somewhat effusive Official Catalogue; the education of all three appears to have been elementary._ THE DAUGHTER _(spelling out the words laboriously)._ "I could not 'elp fancying this was the artist's por-portrait?--portent?--no, _protest_ against des-des--(_recklessly_) despoticism, and tyranny, but I see it is only--Por-Porliffymus fasting upon the companions of Ulyces." Her Male Parent. Do it tell yer what that there big arm and leg be a-doin' of in the middle of 'em? DAUGHTER (_stolidly_). Don't you be in a nurry, father (_continuing_)--"in the midst of some colonial?--_That_ ain't it--_colossial_ animiles fanatically--fan-tasty-cally----why, this catalogue is 'alf foreign itself!" FEMALE P. Never mind, say 'Peterborough' at the 'ard words--_we_ shan't be none the wiser! DAUGHTER. "The sime-boalic ram the 'ero is to Peterborough and leave 'is Peterborough grotter----" MALE P. That'll do--read what it says about the next one. DAUGHTER (_reading_). "The Forge of Vulkin. Words are useless 'ere. Before sech a picture one can but look, and think, and enjoy it." BOTH PARENTS (_impressed_). Lor! [_They smack their lips reverently_; MISS TROTTER _enters the Gallery_. CULCH. (_rising and going to meet her_). Good morning, Miss Trotter. We--ah--meet again. MISS T. That's an undeniable fact. I've left Poppa outside. Poppa restricts himself to exteriors wherever he can--says he doesn't seem to mix up his impressions so much that way. But you're alone, too. Where've you hitched your friend up?