CULCH. My friend did not rise sufficiently early to accompany me. And, by the way, Miss Trotter, I should like to take this opportunity of disabusing your mind of the--er--totally false impression---- MISS T. Oh, _that's_ all right. I told him he needn't try to give me away, for I could see you weren't _that_ kind of man! CULCH. (_gratefully_). Your instinct was correct--perfectly correct. When you say "that kind of man," I presume you refer to the description my--er--friend considered it humorous to give of me as an unsociable hypochondriac? MISS T. Well, no; he didn't say just that. He represented you as one of the fonniest persons alive; said you told stories which tickled folks to death almost. CULCH. (_annoyed_). Really, this is _most_ unpardonable of Mr. Podbury! To have such odious calumnies circulated about one behind one's back is simply too----I do _not_ aspire to--ah--to tickle folks to death! MISS T. (_soothingly_). Well, I guess there's no harm done. I didn't feel like being in any imminent danger of perishing that way in your society. You're real high-toned and ever so improving, and that's better than tickling, every time. And I want you to show me round this collection and give me a few notions. Seems to me there was considerable sand in Wiertz; sort of spread himself around a good deal, didn't he? I presume, though, he slept bad, nights. (_She makes the tour of the Gallery, accompanied by_ CULCHARD, _who admires her, against his better judgment, more and more_.) ... I declare if that isn't your friend Mr. Podbury just come in! I believe I'll have to give you up to him. CULCH. (_eagerly_). I beg you will not think it necessary. He--he has a guide already. _He_ does not require my services. And, to be plain, my poor friend--though an excellent fellow according to his--ah--lights--is a companion whose society occasionally amounts to a positive infliction. MISS T. Well, I find him too chinny myself, times. Likely he won't notice us if we don't seem to be aware of him. [_They continue to inspect the canvases._ A BELGIAN GUIDE (_who has made an easy capture of_ PODBURY _at the Hotel entrance_.) Hier now is a shdrainch beecture. "De toughts and veesions of a saivered haid." Fairsst meenut afder degapitation; de zagonde; de tirt. Hier de haid tink dey vant to poot him in a goffin. Dere are _two_ haids--von goes op, de udder down. Haf you got de two? Nod yet? No? PODBURY (_shaking his head sagaciously_). Oh, ah, yes. Capital. Rum subject, though. GUIDE. Yais, vary magnifique, vary grandt, and--and rom also! Dees von rebresents Napoleon in hail. De modders show him de laigs and ahums of dair sons keeled in de vars, and invide him to drink a cop of bloodt. PODB. Ha, cheery picture that! [Illustration: "I PRESUME, THOUGH, HE SLEPT BAD, NIGHTS."]