Podb. Hold on a bit. Wait till you've heard my penance. She told me to cart you off. Now, then!
Culch. (faintly). If I thought she'd been trifling with us both like that, I'd never——
Podb. She's no end of a clever girl, you know. And, after all, she may only have wanted time to make up her mind.
Culch. (violently). I tell you what she is—she's a cold-blooded pedantic prig, and a systematic flirt! I loathe and detest a prig, but a flirt I despise—yes, despise, Podbury!
Podb. (with only apparent irrelevance). The same to you, and many of 'em, old chap! Hullo, we're going to stop at this inn. Let's get out and stretch our legs and have some coffee.
[They do; on returning, they find the Italian Gentleman smiling blandly at them from inside the coupé.
The It. G. Goodaby, dear frens, a riverderla! I success at your chairs. I vish you a pleasure's delay!
Podb. But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got our place!
The It. G. Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so.
[He blows Podbury a kiss.