Podb. If that's meant to be cutting, I should save it up for that novel of yours; it may seem smart—there!
Miss P. Really, Mr. Podbury, if you choose to resent a playful remark in that manner, you had better go away.
Podb. Perhaps I had. (Rises, and moves off huffily.) D—— his playfulness! 'Pon my word, poor old Culchard was nothing to that beggar! And she backs him up! But there—it's all part of my probation! (Here Culchard suddenly appears, laden with burdens.) Hullo! are you moving, or what?
Culch. I am merely carrying a few things for Miss Trotter. (Drops the copper pot, which bounds down into the arena.) Dash the thing!... (Returning with it.) It's natural that, in my position, I should have these—er—privileges. (He trips over a blanket.) Conf——Have you happened to see Miss Trotter about, by the way?
Podb. Fancy I saw her down below just now—with Bob. I expect they're walking round under the arches.
Culch. Just so. Do you know, Podbury, I almost think I'll go down and find her. I—I'm curious to hear what her impressions of a place like this are. Such a scene, you know,—so full of associations with—er—the splendours and cruelties of a corrupt past—must produce a powerful effect upon the fresh untutored mind of an American girl, eh?
Miss T.'s voice (distinctly from arena). I'd like ever so much to see Buffalo Bill run his Show in here—he'd just make this old circus hum!
Miss P.'s voice (indistinctly from topmost tier). Almost fancy it all ... Senators—equites—populus—pullati ... yellow sunlight striking down through vellarium ... crimsoned sand ... mirmillo fleeing before secutor ... Diocletian himself, perhaps, lolling over there on cubiculum ... &c. &c. &c.
Culch. The place appears to excite Miss Prendergast's enthusiasm, at all events! [Sighs.
Podb. Rath-er! But then she's no end of a classical swell, you know! [Sighs.