[They go out, leaving CULCHARD annoyed with himself and everybody else, and utterly unable to settle down, to his sonnet again.
IN AN UPPER CORRIDOR, TWO HOURS LATER.
Culch. (coming upon Podbury). So you've got rid of your Americans at last, eh?
Podb. I was in no hurry, I can tell you. She's a ripping little girl—tremendous fun. What do you think she asked me about you?
Culch. (stiff, but flattered). I wasn't aware she had honoured me by her notice. What was it?
Podb. Said you had a sort of schoolmaster look, and wanted to know if you were my tutor. My tutor! [He roars.
Culch. I hope you—ah—undeceived her?
Podb. Rather! Told her it was t'other way round, and I was looking after you. Said you were suffering from melancholia, but were not absolutely dangerous.
Culch. If that's your idea of a joke, all I can say is—
[He chokes with rage.