CULCH. Torcello--"the Mother of Venice!" it really seems a pity to go away without having seen it. Do you know, Podbury, I think I'll join you! PODB. (_not over cordially_). Come along, then--only look sharp. Sure you don't mind? Miss Trotter will be there, you know! CULCH. Exactly; and so--I think you said--will the--er--Prendergasts. (_To_ PORTER.) Just get us a gondola and two rowers, will you, for Torcello. And tell them to row as fast as they can! CHAPTER XXV. +JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING.+ SCENE--_Near Torcello._ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _are seated side by side in the gondola, which is threading its way between low banks, bright with clumps of Michaelmas daisies and pomegranate-trees laden with red fruit. Both_ CULCHARD _and_ PODBURY _are secretly nervous and anxious for encouragement_. PODBURY (_humming_ "_In Old Madrid_" _with sentiment_). La-doodle-um-La-doodle-oo: La-doodle-um-te-dumpty-loodle-oo! I think she rather seemed to like me--those first days at Brussels, don't _you_? CULCHARD (_absently_). Did she? I dare say. (_Whistling_ "_The Wedding March_" _softly_.) Few-fee; di-fee-fee-few-few; few-fiddledy-fee-fiddledy-few-few-few-fee. I fancy I'm right in my theory, eh? PODB. Oh, I should say so--yes. _What_ theory? CULCH. (_annoyed_). What theory? Why, the one I've been explaining to you for the last ten minutes!--that all this harshness of hers lately is really, when you come to analyse it, a decidedly encouraging symptom. PODB. But I shouldn't have said Miss Trotter was exactly _harsh_ to me--lately, at all events. CULCH. (_with impatience_). Miss Trotter! You! What an egoist you are, my dear fellow! I was referring to myself and Miss Prendergast. And you can't deny that, both at Nuremberg and Constance, she---- PODB. (_with careless optimism_). Oh, _she_'ll come round all right, never fear. I only wish I was half as safe with Miss Trotter! CULCH. (_mollified_). Don't be too down-hearted, my dear Podbury. I happen to know that she likes you--she told me as much last night. Did Miss Prendergast--er--say anything to that effect about _me_? PODB. Well,--not exactly, old chap--not to me, at least. But I say, Miss Trotter didn't tell you _that_? Not _really_? Hooray! Then it's all right--she may have me after all! CULCH. (_chillingly_). I should advise you not to be over-confident. (_A silence follows, which endures until they reach the landing-steps at Torcello._) They _are_ here, you see--those are evidently their gondolas, I recognise those two cloaks. Now the best thing _we_ can do is to separate. PODB. (_springing out_). Right you are! (_To himself._) I'll draw the church first and see if she's there. (_Approaches the door of Santa Maria: a Voice within, apparently reading aloud_: "_Six balls, or rather almonds, of purple marble veined with white are set around the edge of the pulpit, and form its only decoration_.") Hypatia, by Jove! Narrow shave that! [_He goes round to back._