Miss P. (graciously). Pray don't apologize, Mr. Culchard; not the least harm done! You must forgive me for not recognizing you before, but you know of old how provokingly short-sighted I am, and I've forgotten my glasses.
Culch. (indistinctly). I—er—not at all ... most distressed, I assure you ... really no notion——
Miss T. (in an undertone). Say, you know her, then? And you never let on!
Culch. Didn't I? Oh, surely! yes, I've—er—met that lady. (With grateful deference to Mr. Bellerby, who has just addressed him.) You are an Art-Collector? Indeed? And—er—have you—er—?
Mr. B. I've the three finest Bodgers in the kingdom, Sir, and there's a Gubbins—a Joe Gubbins, mind you, not John—that's hanging now in the morning-room of my place in the country that I wouldn't take a thousand pounds for! I go about using my eyes, and pick 'em up cheap. Cheapest picture I ever bought was a Prout—thirty-two by twenty; got it for two pound ten! Unfinished, of course, but it only wanted the colour being brought up to the edge. I did that. Took me half a day, and now—well, any dealer would give me hundreds for it! But I shall leave it to the nation, out of respect for Prout's memory.
Bob Pr. (to Podbury). Yes, came over by the St. Gothard. Who is that girl who was talking to Culchard just now? Do you know her? I say, I wish you'd introduce me some time.
Miss T. (to Culchard). You don't seem vurry bright this evening. I'd like you to converse with your friend opposite, so I could get a chance to chip in. I'm ever so interested in that girl!
Culch. Presently—presently, if I have an opportunity. (Hastily to Mr. B.) I gather that you paint yourself, Sir?
Mr. B. Well, yes. I assure you I often go to a Gallery, see a picture there that takes my fancy, go back to my office, and paint it in half an hour from memory—so like the original that, if it were framed, and hung up alongside, it would puzzle the man who painted it to know t'other from which! I have indeed! I paint original pictures, too. Most important thing I ever did was—let me see now—three feet by two and three-quarters. I was most successful in getting an effect of rose-coloured snow against the sky. I sponged it up, and—well, it came right somehow. Luck, that was, not skill, you know. I sent that picture to the Royal Academy, and they did me the honour to—ar—reject it.
Culch. (vaguely). An—er—honour, indeed.—(In despair, as Mr. B. rises.)—You——You're not going!