Culch. (internally). It's very unfortunate that she will insist on idealising me like this!
Miss T. Maybe, now, you can form a pretty good idea already what that opinion is?
Culch. (in modest deprecation). You give me some reason for inferring that it is far higher than I deserve.
Miss T. Well, I don't know that you've missed your guess altogether. Are you through your ice-cream yet?
Culch. Almost. (He finishes his ice.) It is really most refreshing!
Miss T. Then, now you're refreshed, I'll tell you what I think about you. (CULCHARD resigns himself to enthusiasm.) My opinion of you, Mr. CULCHARD, is that, taking you by and large, you amount to what we Amurrcans describe as "a pretty mean cuss."
Culch. (genuinely surprised). A mean cuss? Me! Really, this unjustifiable language is most—!
Miss T. Well, I don't just know what your dictionary term would be for a man who goes and vows exclusive devotion to one young lady, while he's waiting for his answer from another, and keeps his head close shut to each about it. Or a man who backs out of his vows by trading off the sloppiest kind of flap-doodle about not wishing to blight the hopes of his dearest friend. Or a man who has been trying his hardest to get into the good graces again of the young lady he went back on first, so he can cut out that same dearest friend of his, and leave the girl he's haff engaged to right out in the cold. And puts it all off on the high-toned-est old sentiments, too. But I don't consider the expression, "a mean cuss," too picturesque for that particular kind of hero myself!
Culch. (breathing hard). Your feelings have apparently undergone a sudden change—quite recently!
Miss T. Well, no, the change dates back considerable—ever since we were at the Villa d'Este. Only, I like Mr. PODBURY pretty well, and I allowed he ought to have fair play, so I concluded I'd keep you around so you shouldn't get a chance of spoiling your perfectly splendid act of self-denial—and I guess I've kept you around pretty much all the time!