[_She steps into the gondola_; BOB _raises his eyebrows in mute interrogation at_ PODBURY, _who shakes his head, and allows the gondola to go without him_. PODB. (_to himself as the gondola disappears_). So _that's_ over! Hanged if I don't think I'm sorry, after all. It will be beastly lonely without anybody to bully me, and she could be awfully nice when she chose.... Still it _is_ a relief to have got rid of old Tintoret, and not to have to bother about Bellini and Cima and that lot.... How that beggar Culchard will crow when he hears of it! Shan't tell him anything--if I can help it.... But the worst of getting the sack is--people are almost _bound_ to spot you.... I think I'll be off to-morrow. I've had enough of Venice! CHAPTER XXIV. +THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE.+ SCENE--_The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the facade gleam a greenish silver in the moonlight. The shadow of the Campanile falls, black and broad, across the huge square, which is crowded with people listening to the Military Band, and taking coffee, &c., outside the cafes._ MISS TROTTER _and_ CULCHARD _are seated at one of the little tables in front of the Quadri_. MISS T. I'd like ever so much to know why it is you're so anxious to see that Miss Prendergast and me friendly again? After she's been treating you this long while like you were a toad--and not a popular kind of toad at that! CULCH. (_wincing_). Of course I am only too painfully aware of--of a certain distance in her manner towards me, but I should not think of allowing myself to be influenced by any--er--merely personal considerations of that sort. MISS T. That's real noble! And I presume, now, you cann't imagine any reason why she's been treading you so flat. CULCH. (_with a shrug_). I really haven't troubled to speculate. Who can tell how one may, quite unconsciously, give offence--even to those who are--er--comparative strangers? MISS T. Just so. (_A pause._) Well, Mr. Culchard, if I wanted anything to confirm my opinion of you, I guess you've given it me! CULCH. (_internally_). It's very unfortunate that she _will_ insist on idealizing me like this! MISS T. Maybe, now, you can form a pretty good idea already what that opinion is? CULCH. (_in modest deprecation_). You give me some reason for inferring that it is far higher than I deserve. MISS T. Well, I don't know that you've missed your guess altogether. Are you through your ice-cream yet? CULCH. Almost. (_He finishes his ice._) It is really most refreshing. MISS T. Then, now you're refreshed, I'll tell you what I think about you. (CULCHARD _resigns himself to enthusiasm_.) My opinion of you, Mr. Culchard, is that, taking you by and large, you amount to what we Amurrcans describe as "a pretty mean cuss." CULCH. (_genuinely surprised_). A mean cuss? Me! Really, this unjustifiable language is _most_----!