PODB. Oh, of course it's very jolly. Find I get a trifle mixed afterwards, though. And, between ourselves, I wouldn't mind--now and then, you know--just dawdling about among the shops and people, as you and the Trotters do! CULCH. That has its charm, no doubt. But don't you find Miss Prendergast a mine of information on Italian Art and History? PODB. Don't I just--rather too _deep_ for me, y' know! I say, isn't Miss Trotter immense sport in the shops and that? [Illustration: "I GUESS YOU'RE THE MOST UNSELFISH SAINT ON TWO LEGS!"] CULCH. She is--er--vivacious, certainly. (PODBURY _sighs_.) You seem rather dull to-night, my dear fellow? PODB. Not dull--a trifle out of sorts, that's all. Fact is, I don't think Venice agrees with me. All this messing about down beastly back-courts and canals and in stuffy churches--it _can't_ be healthy, you know! And they've _no_ drainage. I only hope I haven't caught something, as it is. I've that kind of sinking feeling, and a general lowness--_She_ says I lunch too heavily--but I swear it's more than that! CULCH. Nonsense, you're well enough. And why you should feel low, with all your advantages--in Venice as you are, and in constant intercourse with a mind adorned with every feminine gift--! PODB. Hul-lo! why, I thought you called her a pedantic prig? CULCH. If I used such a term at all, it was in no disparaging sense. Every earnest nature presents an--er--priggish side at times. I know that even I myself have occasionally, and by people who didn't _know_ me of course, been charged with priggishness. PODB. Have you, though? But of course there's nothing of that about _her_. Only--well, it don't signify. [_He sighs._ CULCH. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be content! You might be worse off, believe me! PODB. (_discontentedly_). It's all very well for _you_ to talk--with Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you're regularly engaged by this time, eh? CULCH. Not quite. There's still a----And your probation, that's practically at an end? PODB. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on me the way she does unless she _liked_ me, I suppose. But I say, it must be awf--rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so much _go_, eh? CULCH. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated. PODB. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At least--well, we _both_ ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky beggars, I'm sure! [_He sighs more heavily than ever._ CULCH. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if you're half grateful enough! PODB. (_snappishly_). Yes, I am, I tell you. _I_'m not grumbling, am I? I know as well as you do she's miles too good for me. Haven't I _said_ so? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at me for, eh? CULCH. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little irritable to-night? PODB. No, I'm not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you talk--as if a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't----!