AN ELDERLY ENGLISHWOMAN IS SITTING ON HER TRUNK.
Podb. I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!
Culch. (vexed). It doesn't seem to be making any particular impression on you, I must say!
Podb. It's making me deuced peckish, I know that—how about lunch, eh!
Culch. (pained). We are going through scenery like this, and all you think of is—lunch! (Podbury opens a basket.) You may give me one of those sandwiches. What made you get veal? and the bread's all crust, too! Thanks, I'll take some claret.... (They lunch; the vehicle meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass.) Dear me, we're at the top already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether—much colder at this height, eh? Don't you find this keen air most exhilarating?
Podb. (shivering). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up? Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get over it, eh?
Culch. We shan't get over it for some hours yet.
Podb. I didn't mean the Pass, I meant—(hesitating)—well, your little affair with Miss Prendergast, you know.