Culch. If I used such a term at all, it was in no disparaging sense. Every earnest nature presents an—er—priggish side at times. I know that even I myself have occasionally, and by people who didn't know me of course, been charged with priggishness.
Podb. Have you, though? But of course there's nothing of that about her. Only—well, it don't signify. [He sighs.
Culch. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be content! You might be worse off, believe me!
Podb. (discontentedly). It's all very well for you to talk—with Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you're regularly engaged by this time, eh?
Culch. Not quite. There's still a—— And your probation, that's practically at an end?
Podb. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on me the way she does unless she liked me, I suppose. But I say, it must be awf—rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so much go, eh?
Culch. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.
Podb. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At least—well, we both ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky beggars, I'm sure! [He sighs more heavily than ever.
Culch. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if you're half grateful enough!
Podb. (snappishly). Yes, I am, I tell you. I'm not grumbling, am I? I know as well as you do she's miles too good for me. Haven't I said so? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at me for, eh?