Culch. And so you went on to S. Giovanni in Bragora, eh? then over the Arsenal, and rowed across the lagoons to see the Armenian convent? A delightful day, my dear Podbury! I hope you—er—appreciate the inestimable privileges of—of seeing Venice so thoroughly?
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?
"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?