Culch. Only in words; that is, I record my impressions in a poetic form. A perfect sonnet may render a scene, a mood, a passing thought, more indelibly than the most finished sketch; may it not?
The Y.L. That is quite true; indeed, I occasionally relieve my feelings by the composition of Greek or Latin verses, which I find, on the whole, better adapted to express the subtler emotions. Don't you agree with me there?
Culch. (who has done no Greek or Latin verse since he left school). Doubtless. But I am hindering your sketch?
The Y.L. No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general effect. I shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going now. I hope the genius of the place will inspire you.
Culch. Thank you. I trust it will—er—have that effect. (To himself, after the Young Lady has left the terrace.) Now, that's a very superior girl—she has intellect, style, culture—everything the ideal woman should have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her before—but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her eyes looked through her pince-nez! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If I'd been with PODBURY, I should never have had this talk. The sight of him would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I shall spend most of to-morrow on this terrace.
SCENE—The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof. Evening. PODBURY at the piano; BOB PRENDERGAST and his sister HYPATIA seated near him.
Podb. (chanting dolefully)—
Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
What had the com-plex-i-on rich and rare,