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?