Culch. That's impossible, and I can prove it. The service she demanded was, that I should leave Constance at once—with you. Do you understand—with you, PODBURY!
Podb. (with a prolonged whistle). My aunt!
Culch. (severely). You may invoke every female relative you possess in the world, but it won't alter the fact, and that alone ought to convince you—
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!