THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS
No. XIV.
SCENE—Gardens belonging to the Hôtel du Parc, Lugano. Time, afternoon; the orchestra is tuning up in a kiosk. CULCHARD is seated on a bench in the shade, keeping an anxious eye upon the opposite door.
Culch. (to himself). She said she had a headache, and made her father and VAN BOODELER go out on the lake without her. But she certainly gave me to understand that she might come out when the band played, if she felt better. The question is, whether she means to feel better or not. She is the most tantalising girl! I don't know what to make of her. Not a single reference, as yet, to that last talk we had at Bingen. I must see if I can't recall it to her memory—if she comes. I'll wait here, on the chance of it—we are not likely to be dis——. Confound it all—PODBURY! (with suppressed irritation as PODBURY comes up). Well, do you want anything in particular?
Podb. (cheerfully, as he sits down). Only the pleasure of your society, old chap. How nicely you do put things!
Culch. The—er—fact is, I can't promise to be a particularly lively companion just now.
Podb. Not by way of a change? Ah, well, it's a pity—but I must put up with you as you are, I suppose. You see—(with a grin)—I've got that vow to work out.
Culch. Possibly—but I haven't. As I've already told you—I retire.
Podb. Wobbled back to Miss TROTTER again, eh? Matter of taste, of course, but, for my part, I think your first impression of her was nearer the truth—she's not what I call a highly cultivated sort of girl, y' know.
Culch. You are naturally exacting on that point, but have the goodness to leave my first impressions alone, and—er—frankly, PODBURY, I see no necessity (now, at all events) to take that ridiculous—hum—penance too literally. We are travelling together, and I imagine that is enough for Miss PRENDERGAST.