CHAPTER XV.
Culchard comes out Nobly.
Scene—The Table d'Hôte at Lugano; Culchard has not yet caught Miss Prendergast's eye.
Culchard (to Mr. Bellerby). Have you—ah—been up Monte Generoso yet?
Mr. B. No. (After reflecting.) No, I haven't. But I was greatly struck by its remarkably bold outline from below. Indeed, I dashed off a rough sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards. I ought to have it somewhere about me now. (Searching himself.) Ah, I thought so! (Handing a vague little scrawl to Culchard, who examines it with the deepest interest.) I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad like this. Send 'em in letters to relatives at home—gives them a notion of the place. They are—ar—kind enough to value them. (Culchard makes a complimentary mumble.) Yes, I'm a very rapid sketcher. Put me with regular artists, and give us half an hour, and I—ar—venture to say I should be on terms with them. Make it three hours, and—well, I dare say I shouldn't be in it.
Podbury (who has dropped into the chair next to Miss Prendergast and her brother). Bob, old chap, I'll come in the middle, if you don't mind. I say, this is ripping—no idea of coming across you so soon as this. (Lowering his voice, to Miss P.) Still pegging away at my "penance," you see!
Miss Prend. The pleasure is more than mutual; but do I understand that Mr.——? So tiresome, I left my glasses up in my room!
[She peers up and down the line of faces on her own side of the table.
Miss T. (to Culch.). I want you should notice that girl. I think she looks just as nice as she can be, don't you?
"I KNOCK OFF QUITE A NUMBER OF THESE WHILE I'M ABROAD LIKE THIS."
Culch. (carefully looking in every other direction). I—er—mumble—mumble—don't exactly——
[Here a Waiter offers him a dish containing layers of soles disguised under brown sauce; Culchard mangles it with an ineffectual spoon. The Waiter, with pitying contempt, "Tut-tut-tut! Pesce, Signore—feesh!" Culch. eventually lands a sole in a very damaged condition.
Podb. (to Miss P.). No—not this side—just opposite. (Here Culch., in fingering a siphon which is remarkably stiff on the trigger, contrives to send a spray across the table and sprinkle Miss Prendergast, her brother, and Podbury, with impartial liberality). Now don't you see him? As playful as ever, isn't he! Don't try to make out it was an accident, old fellow. Miss Prendergast knows you! [Misery of Culchard.
Miss P. (graciously). Pray don't apologize, Mr. Culchard; not the least harm done! You must forgive me for not recognizing you before, but you know of old how provokingly short-sighted I am, and I've forgotten my glasses.
Culch. (indistinctly). I—er—not at all ... most distressed, I assure you ... really no notion——
Miss T. (in an undertone). Say, you know her, then? And you never let on!
Culch. Didn't I? Oh, surely! yes, I've—er—met that lady. (With grateful deference to Mr. Bellerby, who has just addressed him.) You are an Art-Collector? Indeed? And—er—have you—er—?
Mr. B. I've the three finest Bodgers in the kingdom, Sir, and there's a Gubbins—a Joe Gubbins, mind you, not John—that's hanging now in the morning-room of my place in the country that I wouldn't take a thousand pounds for! I go about using my eyes, and pick 'em up cheap. Cheapest picture I ever bought was a Prout—thirty-two by twenty; got it for two pound ten! Unfinished, of course, but it only wanted the colour being brought up to the edge. I did that. Took me half a day, and now—well, any dealer would give me hundreds for it! But I shall leave it to the nation, out of respect for Prout's memory.
Bob Pr. (to Podbury). Yes, came over by the St. Gothard. Who is that girl who was talking to Culchard just now? Do you know her? I say, I wish you'd introduce me some time.
Miss T. (to Culchard). You don't seem vurry bright this evening. I'd like you to converse with your friend opposite, so I could get a chance to chip in. I'm ever so interested in that girl!
Culch. Presently—presently, if I have an opportunity. (Hastily to Mr. B.) I gather that you paint yourself, Sir?
Mr. B. Well, yes. I assure you I often go to a Gallery, see a picture there that takes my fancy, go back to my office, and paint it in half an hour from memory—so like the original that, if it were framed, and hung up alongside, it would puzzle the man who painted it to know t'other from which! I have indeed! I paint original pictures, too. Most important thing I ever did was—let me see now—three feet by two and three-quarters. I was most successful in getting an effect of rose-coloured snow against the sky. I sponged it up, and—well, it came right somehow. Luck, that was, not skill, you know. I sent that picture to the Royal Academy, and they did me the honour to—ar—reject it.
Culch. (vaguely). An—er—honour, indeed.—(In despair, as Mr. B. rises.)—You——You're not going!
Mr. B. (consolingly). Only into the garden, for coffee. I observe you are interested in Art. We will—ar—resume this conversation later.
[Rises; Miss Prendergast rises too, and goes towards the garden.
Culch. (as he follows, hastily). I must get this business over—if I can. But I wish I knew exactly how much to tell her. It's really very awkward—between the two of them. I'm afraid I've been a little too precipitate.
IN THE GARDEN; A FEW MINUTES LATER.
Miss Prend. (who has retired to fetch her glasses—with gracious playfulness). Well, Mr. Culchard, and how has my knight performed his lady's behests?
Culch. May I ask which knight you refer to?
Miss P. (slightly changing countenance). Which! Then—you know there is another? Surely there is nothing in that circumstance to—to offend—or hurt you?
Culch. Offended? (Considers whether this would be a good line to take.) Hardly that. Hurt? Well, I confess to being pained—very much pained, to discover that I was unconsciously pitted—against Podbury!
Miss P. But why? I have expressed no preference as yet. You can scarcely have become so attached to him that you dread the result of a successful rivalry!
Culch. (to himself). It's a loop-hole—I'll try it. (Aloud.) You have divined my feeling exactly. In—er—obeying your commands, I have learned to know Podbury better—to see in him a sterling nature, more worthy, in some respects, than my own. And I know how deeply he has centred all his hopes upon you, Miss Prendergast. Knowing, seeing that as I—er—do, I feel that—whatever it costs me—I cannot run the risk of wrecking the—er—life's happiness of so good a fellow. So you must really allow me to renounce vows accepted under—er—an imperfect comprehension of the—er—facts! [Wipes his brow.
Miss P. This is quite too Quixotic. Reflect, Mr. Culchard. Is such a sacrifice demanded of you? I assure you I am perfectly neutral at present. I might prefer Mr. Podbury. I really don't know. And—and I don't like losing one of my suitors like this!
Culch. Don't tempt me! I—I mustn't listen, I cannot. No, I renounce. Be kind to Podbury—try to recognize the good in him ... he is so devoted to you—make him happy, if you can!
Miss P. (affected). I—I really can't tell you how touched I am, Mr. Culchard. I can guess what this renunciation must have cost you. It—it gives me a better opinion of human nature ... it does, indeed!
Culch. (loftily, as she rises to go in). Ah, Miss Prendergast, don't lose your faith in human nature! Trust me, it is—er—full of surprises! (Alone.) Now am I an abominable humbug, or what? I swear I felt every word I said, at the time. Curious psychological state to be in. But I'm out of what might have been a very unpleasant mess, at all events!
Miss T. (coming upon him from round a corner). Well, I'm sure, Mr. Culchard!
Culch. You are a young lady of naturally strong convictions, I am aware. But what are you so sure of at the present moment?
Miss T. Well, I guess I'm not just as sure of you as I should like to be, anyway. Seems to me, considering you've been so vurry inconsolable away from me, you'd a good deal to say to that young lady in the patent folders. And I'd like an explanation—you're right down splendid at explaining most things.
Culch. (with virtuous indignation). So you actually suspect me of having carried on a flirtation!
Miss T. I guess girls don't use their pocket-handkerchiefs that way over the weather. Who is she, anyway?
Culch. (calmly). If you insist on knowing, she is the lady to whom Mr. Podbury has every prospect of being engaged. I hope your mind is at ease now?
Miss T. Well, I expect my mind would have stood the strain as it was—so it's Mr. Podbury who's her admirer? See here, you're going to introduce me to that girl right away. It's real romantic, and I'm perfectly dying to make her acquaintance!
Culch. Hum—well. She is—er—peculiar, don't you know, and I rather doubt whether you will have much in common.
Miss T. Well, if you don't introduce me, I shall introduce myself, that's all.
Culch. By all means. (To himself.) Not if I can prevent it, though!