Culch. (gratefully). Your instinct was correct—perfectly correct. When you say "that kind of man," I presume you refer to the description my—er—friend considered it humorous to give of me as an unsociable hypochondriac?
Miss T. Well, no; he didn't say just that. He represented you as one of the fonniest persons alive; said you told stories which tickled folks to death almost.
Culch. (annoyed). Really, this is most unpardonable of Mr. PODBURY! To have such odious calumnies circulated about one behind one's back is simply too—I do not aspire to—ah—to tickle folks to death!
Miss T. (soothingly). Well, I guess there's no harm done. I didn't feel like being in any imminent danger of perishing that way in your society. You're real high-toned and ever so improving, and that's better than tickling; every time. And I want you to show me round this collection and give me a few notions. Seems to me there was considerable sand in WIERTZ; sort of spread himself around a good deal, didn't he? I presume, though, he slept bad, nights.
(She makes the tour of the Gallery, accompanied by CULCHARD, who admires her, against his better judgment, more and more.) ... I declare if that isn't your friend Mr. PODBURY just come in! I believe I'll have to give you up to him.
Culch. (eagerly). I beg you will not think it necessary. He—he has a guide already. He does not require my services. And, to be plain, my poor friend—though, an excellent fellow according to his—ah—lights—is a companion whose society occasionally amounts to a positive infliction.
Miss T. Well, I find him too chinny myself, times. Likely he won't notice us if we don't seem to be aware of him.
[They continue to inspect the canvases.
A Belgian Guide (who has made an easy capture of PODBURY at the Hotel entrance). Hier now is a shdrainch beecture. "De toughts and veesions of a saivered haid." Fairsst meenut afder degapitation; de zagonde; de tirt. Hier de haid tink dey vant to poot him in a goffin. Dere are two haids—von goes op, de udder down. Haf you got de two? Nod yet? No?
Podbury (shaking his head sagaciously). Oh, ah, yes. Capital! Rum subject, though.