_Podb._ (_puzzled_). But I thought you said you'd been speaking up for
me! What _did_ you talk about then?
_Culch._ Well, about myself--naturally. [_He settles his collar with a
vague satisfaction._
_Podb._ (_blankly_). Oh! Then you haven't been arranging to meet her
again on _my_ account?
_Culch._ Good Heavens, no--what a very grotesque idea of yours, my
dear fellow! [_He laughs gently._
_Podb._ Is it? You always gave out that she wasn't your style at all,
and you only regarded her as a "study," and rot like that. How could
_I_ tell you would go and cut me out?
_Culch._ I don't deny that she occasionally--er--jarred. She is a
little deficient in surface refinement--but that will come, that will
come. And as to "cutting you out," why, you must allow you never had
the remotest--
_Podb._ I don't allow anything of the sort. She liked me well enough
till--till you came in and set her against me, and you may think it
friendly if you like, but I call it shabby--confoundedly shabby.
_Culch._ Don't talk so loud, I'm sure I saw that woman smile!
_Podb._ She may smile her head off for all I care. (_The train stops;
the Cripple and all but the Pale-haired Lady get out_.) Here we are
at Nuremberg. What hotel did you say you are going to?
_Culch.
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