CULCH. (_to himself, as he follows her_). Really, this is not much better than Ruskin, after all. But I don't despair. That last remark was distinctly encouraging! SCENE--_A large Salle a Manger, decorated in the Pompeian style. Table d'hote has begun._ CULCHARD _is seated between_ MISS TROTTER _and a large and conversational stranger. Opposite are three empty chairs._ CULCHARD'S NEIGHBOUR. Then you're going on to Venice? Well, you take _my_ advice. When you get there, you ask for tunny. Don't forget--_tunny_! CULCH. (_who wants to talk to_ MISS T.). Tunny? Thank you. I--er--will certainly remember his name, if I require a guide. HIS N. A guide? No, no--tunny's a _fish_, Sir, a coarse red fish, with flesh like a raw beefsteak. CULCH. Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it--if I want raw beefsteak. [_Attempts to turn to_ MISS T. HIS N. That's what _I_ did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager. He came. I said to him, "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's Bellerby. (CULCHARD _bows in patient boredom_.) I've heard of your Venetian tunny. I wish to taste it. _Bring_ me some!" CULCH. (_crushingly_). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no doubt. (_To_ WAITER.) _Numero vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et siphon!_ HIS N. You don't wait till I've _done_, Sir! I _didn't_ obtain it--not at first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for _that_. I told him plainly, "I know what _you_'re thinking--it's a cheap fish, and you fancy I'm ordering it out of economy!" CULCH. (_raising his eyebrows for_ MISS T.'S _benefit_). Of course, he naturally _would_ think so. And _that_ is how you got your tunny? I see. [MR. BELLERBY _stares at him suspiciously, and decides to suppress the remainder of his tunny._ MISS T. This hotel seems to be thinning some. We've three ghosts right in front of us this evening. CULCH. (_turning with effusion_). So we have! My friend is one, and he'll be here presently, but I much prefer myself to see every seat occupied. There is something so depressing about a vacant chair, don't you think? MISS T. It's calculated to put one in mind of _Macbeth's_ little dinner-party, certainly. But you can cheer up, Mr. Culchard, here comes a couple of belated _Banquos_. My gracious, I _do_ like that girl's face--she has such a perfectly lovely expression, and looks real superior too! CULCH. (_who has just dropped his glasses into his soup_). I--ah--which lady are you referring to? (_He cleans and adjusts his glasses--to discover that he is face to face with_ MISS HYPATIA PRENDERGAST.) Oh ... I--I see--precisely, quite so! (_He turns to_ BELLERBY _to cover his confusion and avoid meeting_ MISS PRENDERGAST'S _eye_.) I _beg_ your pardon, you were describing how you caught a tunny? Pray continue. MR. BELLERBY (_stiffly_). Excuse me, I don't seem fortunate enough to have secured your undivided attention.