CULCH. (_indignantly_). Mean? because I----! (_He pays and dismisses the_ CIC.) Now we can examine these monuments in peace--they are really--er--unique examples of the sepulchral pomp of Italian mediaevalism. MISS T. They're handsome tombs enough--but considerable cramped. I should have thought these old Scallywags would have looked around for a roomier burying lot. (_To_ CULCHARD, _who shivers_.) You aren't feeling sick any? CULCH. No--only pained by such a travesty of a noble name. "Scallywags" for Scaligers seems to me, if I may say so, a very cheap form of humour! MISS T. Well, it's more than cheap--it isn't going to cost you a cent, so I should think you'd appreciate it! BOB P. Haw--score for _you_, Miss Trotter! CULCH. I should have thought myself that mere personality is hardly enough to give point to any repartee--there is a slight difference between brilliancy and--er--_brutality_! BOB P. Hullo! You and I are being sat upon pretty heavily, Miss Trotter. MISS T. I guess our Schoolmaster's abroad. But why Mr. Culchard should want to make himself a train out of my coverlets, I don't just see--he looks majestic enough without that. [CULCHARD _catches up a blanket which is trailing, and says bad words under his breath_. AT THE TOMB OF JULIET. CULCH. (_who is gradually recovering his equanimity_). Think of it! the actual spot on which _Romeo_ and _Juliet_--Shakspeare's _Juliet_--drew their last breath! Does it not realise the tragedy for you? MISS T. Well, no--it's a disappointing tomb. I reckoned it would look less like a horse-trough. I should have expected _Juliet's_ Poppa and Momma would want, considering all the facts of the case, to throw more style into her monument! CULCH. (_languidly_). May not its very simplicity--er--attest the sincerity of their remorse? MISS T. Do you attach any particular meaning to that observation now? (CULCHARD _bites his lip_.) I notice this tomb is full of visiting cards--my! but ain't that curious? CULCH. (_instructively_). It only shows that this place is not without its pathos and interest for _most_ visitors, no matter what their nationality may be. You don't feel inclined yourself to----? MISS T. To leave a pasteboard? Why I shouldn't sleep any all night, for fear she'd return my call! CULCH. (_producing a note-book_). It's fanciful, perhaps--but, if you don't mind waiting a little, I should like to contribute--not my card, but a sonnet. I feel one on its way. BOB P. Better make sure the tomb's _genuine_ first, hadn't you? Some say it _isn't_. CULCH. (_exasperated_). I _knew_ you'd make some matter-of-fact remark of that kind! There--it's no use! Let us go. MISS T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hope Juliet won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail those verses on to her later. [_She and_ BOB P. _pass on, laughing_.