PODB. She may smile her head off for all I care. (_The train stops;_ _the Cripple and all but the_ Pale-haired Lady _get out._) Here we are at Nuremberg. What hotel did you say you are going to? CULCH. The Bayrischer-Hof. Why? [_He gets his coat and stick, &c., out of the rack._ PODB. Because I shall go to some other, that's all. CULCH. (_in dismay_). My dear Podbury, this is really too childish! There's no sense in travelling together, if we're going to stay at different hotels! PODB. I'm not sure I shall go any further. Anyway, while I _am_ here, I prefer to keep to myself. CULCH. (_with a displeased laugh_). Just as you please. It's a matter of perfect indifference to _me_. I'm afraid you'll be terribly bored by yourself, though. PODB. That's _my_ look out. It can't be worse than going about with you and listening while you crow and drivel about _her_, that's one comfort! [_The_ Pale-haired Lady _coughs in a suspicious manner._ CULCH. You don't even know if there _is_ another hotel. PODB. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I daresay. THE PALE-HAIRED LADY (_in excellent English, to_ PODBURY _as he passes out_). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel--the Wurtemburger. [PODBURY _thanks her and alights in some confusion; the_ Lady _sinks back, smiling._ CULCH. (_annoyed_). She must have understood every word we said! Are you in earnest over this? (PODBURY _nods grimly._) Well, you'll soon get tired of your own society, I warn you. PODB. Thanks, we shall see. [_He saunters off with his bag;_ CULCHARD _shrugs his shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and takes his seat in the omnibus alone._ CHAPTER VIII. +Podbury finds Consolation.+ SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time, afternoon. The shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses are thrown sharply on the reddish-yellow water. Above the steep speckled roofs, the spires of St. Lorenz glitter against the blue sky._ CULCHARD _is leaning listlessly upon the parapet of the bridge._ CULCHARD (_to himself_). How mediaeval it all is, and how infinitely restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow Podbury! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely seen him since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He sighs._) I ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these subdued grey tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of the conical caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that half-engagement to Maud Trotter must have scared away the Muse. I wonder if Podbury has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back disposes of any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg? [_Awkwardly._ PODB. (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place this--suits me down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on, my bonnie boy, eh?