CULCH. Thank you. I trust it will--er--have that effect. (_To himself after the_ Young Lady _has left the terrace._) Now, that's a very superior girl--she has intellect, style, culture--everything the ideal woman _should_ have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her before--but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her eyes looked through her _pince-nez_! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If I'd been with Podbury, I should never have had this talk. The sight of him would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I like the view from this terrace--I shall come up here again--often. SCENE--_The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. Evening._ PODBURY _at the piano_; BOB PRENDERGAST _and his sister_ HYPATIA _seated near him._ PODB. (_chanting dolefully_)-- Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders, What had the com-plex-i-on rich and rare, He went and took and caught the yaller ja-un-ders-- And his complexion isn't what it were! MR. AND MISS PRENDERGAST (_joining sympathetically in chorus_). And his complexion _isn't_ what it _were_! [_There is a faint knock at the door, and_ CULCHARD _enters with a volume under his arm. None of the three observe him, and he stands and listens stiffly as_ PODBURY _continues,_-- Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders, Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare, Eloped to Injia with Eliza Sa-aun-ders, As lived close by in Canonbury Square. CULCH. (_advances to piano and touches_ PODBURY'S _arm with the air of his better angel_). Er--I have brought you the philosophical work I mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are--er--in a fitter frame of mind for its perusal. PODB. Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged; jam it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce you to---- CULCH. (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party. So good-night--or, rather--er--good-_bye_. [_He withdraws._ MISS HYPATIA P. (_just as_ C. _is about to close the door_). Please don't stop, Mr. Podbury, that song is quite too deliciously inane! [CULCHARD _turns as he hears the voice, and--too late--recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears_ PODBURY _sing the final verse._ The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders, If you should have complexions rich and rare; And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders, Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square! MISS HYPATIA P. (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!" [CULCHARD _passes on, crushed._ CHAPTER IX. +Culchard is rather too Clever.+ SCENE--_The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg._ PODBURY _on a bench, grappling with the "Epitome of Spencer."_