Podb. I'm not sure I shall go any further. Anyway, while I am here, I prefer to keep to myself.
Culch. (with a displeased laugh). Just as you please. It's a matter of perfect indifference to me. I'm afraid you'll be terribly bored by yourself, though.
Podb. That's my look out. It can't be worse than going about with you and listening while you crow and drivel about her, that's one comfort! [The Pale-haired Lady coughs in a suspicious manner.
Culch. You don't even know if there is another hotel.
Podb. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I daresay.
The Pale-haired Lady (in excellent English, to Podbury as he passes out). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel—the Wurtemburger.
[Podbury thanks her and alights in some confusion; the Lady sinks back, smiling.
Culch. (annoyed). She must have understood every word we said! Are you in earnest over this? (Podbury nods grimly.) Well, you'll soon get tired of your own society, I warn you.
Podb. Thanks, we shall see.
[He saunters off with his bag; Culchard shrugs his shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and takes his seat in the omnibus alone.