Scene —A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hôtel, Constance. Time, late afternoon. A small boat, containing three persons, is just visible far out on the glassy grey-green water. Bob Prendergast and Podbury are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking disconsolately.

Podbury. Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you what, Bob, I vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for table d'hôte. Eh? [He knocks out his pipe.

Prendergast (phlegmatically). Only be late for it ourselves if we do. They'll come in when they want to.

Podb. It's not safe for your sister, – I'm hanged if it is – going out in a boat with a duffer like Culchard! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.

Prend. (with fraternal serenity). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried! And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap Culchard the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!

Podb. You can't hate it more than I do – but what can I do? (Pathetically.) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!

Prend. What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he declared he wouldn't?

Podb. I! I ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could I help it?

Prend. I'd do something. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't wanted? I would – like a shot!

Podb. It's not so easy to tell him as you think. We haven't been on speaking terms these three days. And, after all (feebly) we're supposed to be travelling together, don't you know! You might drop him a hint now.

Prend. Don't see how I can very well – not on my own hook. Might lead to ructions with Hypatia, too.

Podb. (anxiously). Bob, you – you don't think your sister really – eh?

Prend. Hypatia's a rum girl – always was. She certainly don't seem to object to your friend Culchard. What the dickens she can see in him, I don't know! – but it's no use my putting my oar in. She'd only jump on me, y'know!

Podb. (rising). Then I must. If that's what he's really after, I think I can stop his little game. I'll try, at any rate. It's a long worm that has no turning, and I've had about enough of it. The first chance I get, I'll go for him.

Prend. Good luck to you, old chap. There, they're coming in now. We'd better go in and change, eh? We've none too much time.

[They go in.

In the Lese-zimmer, a small gaslit room, with glazed doors opening upon the Musik-saal. Around a table piled with German and English periodicals, a mild Curate, the Wife of the English Chaplain, and two Old Maids are seated, reading and conversing. Culchard is on a central ottoman, conscientiously deciphering the jokes in "Fliegende Blätter." Podbury is at the bookcase, turning over odd Tauchnitz volumes.

The Chaplain's Wife (to the Curate, a new arrival). Oh, you will very soon get into all our little ways. The hours here are most convenient – breakfast (table d'hôte) with choice of eggs or fish and coffee – really admirable coffee – from eight to nine; midday dinner at one. Supper at nine. Then, if you want to write a letter, the post for England goes out – (&c., &c.) And on Sundays, eleven o'clock service (Evangelical, of course!) at the – (&c., &c.,) My husband – (&c., &c.)

First Old Maid (looking up from a four days' old "Telegraph"). I see they are still continuing that very interesting correspondence on "Our Children's Mouths – and are they widening?" One letter attributes it to the habit of thumb-sucking in infancy – which certainly ought to be checked. Now I never would allow any —

The C.'s. W. Nor I. But corals are quite as bad. Only this afternoon I was telling a Lady in this hotel that her little boy would be much happier with a rubber ring. You get them at a shop in the Hoch-strasse – I can take you to it at any time, or if you like to mention my name – (&c., &c.)

Second O. M. One correspondent thought the practice of eating soup with table-spoons tended to enlarge the mouth. I really believe there may be something in it. [A pause.

The Curate. The weather we have been having seems to have materially affected the harvest prospects at home; they say there will be little or no fodder for the cattle this year. I saw somewhere – I forget where it was exactly – a suggestion to feed cows on chickweed.

Podb. (at the bookcase). Capital thing for them too, Sir. Know a man who never gives his cattle anything else.

The Curate. Oh, really? And does he find the experiment answer?

Podb. They take to it like birds. And – curious thing – after he'd tried it a month, all the cows turned yellow and went about chirping and twittering and hopping. Fact, I assure you!

The Curate. Dear me – I should scarcely have —

[He gradually comes to the conclusion that he is being trifled with, and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, gets up and quits the room with dignity.

Podb. (to himself). One of 'em gone! Now if I can only clear these old tabbies out, I can tackle Culchard. (Aloud, to Chaplain's Wife.) You don't happen to know if there's a good doctor here, I suppose? A lady was saying in the Musik-saal – the lady with the three daughters who came this afternoon – that she was afraid they were in for bad feverish colds or something, and asking who there was to call in.

The C.'s W. Oh, I've no belief in foreign doctors. I always find a few drops of aconite or pulsatilla, – I have my homœopathic case with me now. Perhaps, if I went and had a talk with her I could —

[She goes out energetically.

Podb. Another gone! (To the Old Maids.) So you aren't going down to the Cloisters to-night? I'm told there's to be some fun there – Hide-and-seek, or something – first-rate place for it, especially now the moon's up!

First O. M. Nobody told us a word about it. Hide-and-seek – and in those quaint old Cloisters too – It sounds delightful! What do you say, Tabitha. Shall we just – ? Only to look on, you know. We needn't play, unless —

[The Two Old Maids withdraw in a pleased flutter. Podbury crosses to Culchard.

Podb. (with determination). Look here, Culchard, I'd just like to know what you mean by the way you're going on.

Culch. I thought we were both agreed that discussions of this kind —

Podb. It's all bosh our travelling together if we're not to have any discussions. You've been on the sulk long enough. And I'll thank you to inform me what you're after here, going about alone with Miss Prendergast like this, in the Museum with her all the morning, and on the lake again this afternoon – it won't do, you know!

Culch. If she happens to prefer my society to yours and her brother's, I presume you have no claim to interfere.

Podb. I don't know about that. How about Miss Trotter?

Culch. If I remember rightly, you yourself were not insensible to Miss Trotter's – er – attractions?

Podb. Perhaps not; but I am not engaged to her – you are. You told me so in the train.

Culch. You entirely misunderstood me. There was no definite understanding between us – nothing of the sort or kind. In fact, it was merely a passing caprice. Since I have had the privilege of knowing Miss Prendergast, I see clearly —

Podb. Then you mean to propose to her, eh?

Culch. That is certainly my intention; have you any objection to offer?

Podb. Only that I mean to propose too. I dare say my chances are as good as yours – even now.

Culch. I doubt it, my dear fellow; however, don't let me discourage you.

Podb. I don't intend to. (The figure of Miss Prendergast is seen to pass the glazed doors, and move slowly across the Musik-saal; both rush to the door, and look after her.) She's gone out into the balcony. 'Jove, I'll go too, and get it over!

Culch. I should not advise you to do so. It is possible she may have gone there with the – er – expectation of being joined by – by somebody else. [He smiles complacently.

Podb. You mean she gave you a rendezvous there? I don't believe it!

Culch. I did not say so. But I am not prepared to deny that I have been waiting here with some such expectation.

Podb. (holding the door). If you go, I go too – that's all.

Culch. Don't be absurd. You will only be de trop, I assure you.

Podb. De trop or not, I mean going – she shall choose between us.

Culch. (turning pale). I suppose you intend to enlighten her as to my – er – little flirtation (before I knew her) with Miss Trotter? Do it, Podbury, do it – if you think you'll gain any good by it!

Podb. Telling tales is not exactly in my line. But you don't go on that balcony without me – that's all.

Culch. Well, listen to reason, my dear fellow. What you propose is ridiculous. I – I don't mind conceding this: we'll each go, and – er – tit up, as you call it, which goes first.

Podb. Done with you! (Produces a mark.) Sudden death. You're Eagle – I'm the other Johnny. (Tosses.) Eagle! Confound you! But I mean to have my innings all the same.

Culch. You're perfectly welcome – when I've had mine. I'll – er – wish you good evening.

[He stalks out triumphantly. Podbury places himself in a position from which he can command a view of the Musik-saal, over the top of "über Land und Meer," and awaits results.

CHAPTER XI.
Courtship according to Mr. Ruskin

Scene —A Balcony outside the Musik-Saal of the Insel Hotel, Constance. Miss Prendergast is seated; Culchard is leaning against the railing close by. It is about nine; the moon has risen, big and yellow, behind the mountains at the further end of the Lake; small black boats are shooting in and out of her track upon the water; the beat of the steamers' paddles is heard as they come into harbour. Culchard has just proposed.

Miss Prendergast (after a silence). I have already felt very strongly with Ruskin, that no girl should have the cruelty to refuse a proposal —

Culch. (with alacrity). Ruskin is always so right. And – er – where there is such complete sympathy in tastes and ideas, as I venture to think exists in our own case, the cruelty would —

Miss P. Pray allow me to finish! "Refuse a proposal at once" is Ruskin's expression. He also says (if my memory does not betray me), that "no lover should have the insolence to think of being accepted at once." You will find the passage somewhere in Fors.

Culch. (whose jaw has visibly fallen). I cannot say I recall it at this moment. Does he hold that a lover should expect to be accepted by – er – instalments, because, if so —

Miss P. I think I can quote his exact words. "If she simply doesn't like him, she may send him away for seven years – "

Culch. (stiffly). No doubt that course is open to her. But why seven, and where is he expected to go?

Miss P. (continuing calmly). "He vowing to live on cresses and wear sackcloth meanwhile, or the like penance."

Culch. I feel bound to state at once that, in my own case, my position at Somerset House would render anything of that sort utterly impracticable.

Miss P. Wait, please, – you are so impetuous. "If she likes him a little," – (Culchard's brow relaxes) – "or thinks she might come to like him in time, she may let him stay near her," – (Culchard makes a movement of relief and gratitude) – "putting him always on sharp trial, and requiring, figuratively, as many lion-skins or giants' heads as she thinks herself worth."

Culch. (grimly). "Figuratively" is a distinct concession on Ruskin's part. Still, I should be glad to know —

Miss P. If you will have a little more patience, I will make myself clear. I have always determined that when the – ah – occasion presented itself, I would deal with it on Ruskinian principles. I propose in your case – presuming of course that you are willing to be under vow for me – to adopt a middle course.

Culch. You are extremely good. And what precise form of – er – penance did you think of?

Miss P. The trial I impose is, that you leave Constance to-morrow – with Mr. Podbury.

Culch. (firmly). If you expect me to travel for seven years with him, permit me to mention that I simply cannot do it. My leave expires in three weeks.

Miss P. I mentioned no term, I believe. Long before three weeks are over we shall meet again, and I shall be able to see how you have borne the test. I wish you to correct, if possible, a certain intolerance in your attitude towards Mr. Podbury. Do you accept this probation, or not?

Culch. I – ah – suppose I have no choice. But you really must allow me to say that it is not precisely the reception I anticipated. Still, in your service, I am willing to endure even Podbury – for a strictly limited period; that I do stipulate for.

Miss P. That, as I have already said, is quite understood. Now go and arrange with Mr. Podbury.

Culch. (to himself, as he retires). It is most unsatisfactory; but at least Podbury is disposed of!

The same Scene, a quarter of an hour later. Podbury and Miss Prendergast.

Podb. (with a very long face). No, I say, though! Ruskin doesn't say all that?

Miss P. I am not in the habit of misquoting. If you wish to verify the quotation, however, I dare say I could find you the reference in Fors Clavigera.

Podb. (ruefully). Thanks – I won't trouble you. Only it does seem rather rough on fellows, don't you know. If every one went on his plan – well, there wouldn't be many marriages! Still, I never thought you'd say "Yes" right off. It's like my cheek, I know, to ask you at all; you're so awfully clever and that. And if there's a chance for me, I'm game for anything in the way of a trial. Don't make it stiffer than you can help, that's all!

Miss P. All I ask of you is to leave me for a short time, and go and travel with Mr. Culchard again.

Podb. Oh, I say, Miss Prendergast, you know. Make it something else. Do!

Miss P. That is the task I require, and I can accept no other. It is nothing, after all, but what you came out here to do.

Podb. I didn't know him then, you see. And what made me agree to come away with him at all is beyond me. It was all Hughie Rose's doing – he said we should get on together like blazes. So we have —very like blazes!

Miss P. Never mind that. Are you willing to accept the trial or not?

Podb. If you only knew what he's like when he's nasty, you'd let me off – you would, really. But there, to please you, I'll do it. I'll stand him as long as ever I can – 'pon my honour I will. Only you'll make it up to me afterwards, won't you now?

Miss P. I will make no promises – a true knight should expect no reward for his service, Mr. Podbury.

Podb. (blankly). Shouldn't he? I'm a little new to the business, you see, and it does strike me – but never mind. When am I to trot him off?

Miss P. As soon as you can induce him to go – to-morrow, if possible.

Podb. I don't believe he'll go, you know, for one thing!

Miss P. (demurely). I think you will find him open to persuasion. But go and try, Mr. Podbury.

Podb. (to himself, as he withdraws). Well, I've let myself in for a nice thing! Rummest way of treating a proposal I ever heard of. I should just like to tell that fellow Ruskin what I think of his precious ideas. But there's one thing, though – she can't care about Culchard, or she wouldn't want him carted off like this… Hooray, I never thought of that before! Why, there he is, dodging about to find out how I've got on. I'll tackle him straight off.

[Culchard and Podbury meet at the head of the staircase, and speak at the same moment.

Culch. Er – Podbury, it has occurred }

to me that we might – }

} leave this place to-morrow!

Podb. I say, Culchard, we really ought}

to – }

Podb. Hullo! we're both of one mind for once, eh? (To himself.) Poor old beggar! Got the sack! That explains a lot. Well, I won't tell him anything about this business just now.

Culch. So it appears. (To himself.) Had his quietus, evidently. Ah, well, I won't exult over him.

[They go off together to consult a time-table.

Miss P. (on the balcony musing). Poor fellows! I couldn't very well say anything more definite at present. By the time I see them again, I may understand my own heart better. Really, it is rather an exciting sensation, having two suitors under vow and doing penance at the same time – and all for my sake! I hope, though, they won't mention it to one another – or to Bob. Bob does not understand these things, and he might – But after all, there are only two of them. And Ruskin distinctly says that every girl who is worth anything ought always to have half a dozen or so. Two is really quite moderate.

CHAPTER XII.
Culchard descends from the Clouds

Scene —in Front of the Hôtel Bodenhaus at Splügen. The Diligence For Bellinzona is having its team attached. An elderly Englishwoman is sitting on her trunk, trying to run through the last hundred pages of a novel from the Hotel Library before her departure. Podbury is in the Hotel, negotiating for sandwiches. Culchard is practising his Italian upon a very dingy gentleman in smoked spectacles, with a shawl round his throat.

The Dingy Italian (suddenly discovering Culchard's nationality). Ecco, siete Inglese! Lat us spika Ingelis. I onnerstan' 'im to ze bottomside. (Laboriously, to Culchard, who tries to conceal his chagrin.) 'Ow menni time you employ to go since Coire at here? (C. nods with vague encouragement.) Vich manners of vezzer you vere possess troo your travels – mosh ommerella? (C.'s eyes grow vacant.) Ha, I tink it vood! Zis day ze vicket root sall 'ave plenti 'orse to pull, &c., &c. (Here Podbury comes up, and puts some rugs in the coupé of the diligence.) You sit at ze beginning-end, hey? better, you tink, zan ze mizzle? I too, zen, sall ride at ze front – we vill spika Ingelis, altro!

Podb. (overhearing this, with horror). One minute, Culchard. (He draws him aside.) I say, for goodness' sake, don't let's have that old organ-grinding Johnny in the coupé with us!

Culch. Organ-grinder! you are so very insular! For anything you can tell, he may be a decayed nobleman.

Podb. (coarsely). Well, let him decay somewhere else, that's all! Just tell the Conductor to shove him in the intérieur, do, while I nip into the coupé and keep our places.

[Culchard, on reflection, adopts this suggestion, and the Italian Gentleman, after fluttering feebly about the coupé door, is unceremoniously bundled by the Conductor into the hinder part of the diligence.

IN THE BERNARDINO PASS, DURING THE ASCENT.

Culch. Glorious view one gets at each fresh turn of the road, Podbury! Look at Hinter-rhein, far down below there, like a toy village, and that vast desolate valley, with the grey river rushing through it, and the green glacier at the end, and these awful snow-covered peaks all round —look, man!

Podb. I'm looking, old chap. It's all there, right enough!

Culch. (vexed). It doesn't seem to be making any particular impression on you, I must say!

Podb. It's making me deuced peckish, I know that – how about lunch, eh!

Culch. (pained). We are going through scenery like this, and all you think of is – lunch! (Podbury opens a basket.) You may give me one of those sandwiches. What made you get veal? and the bread's all crust, too! Thanks, I'll take some claret… (They lunch; the vehicle meanwhile toils up to the head of the Pass.) Dear me, we're at the top already! These rocks shut out the valley altogether – much colder at this height, eh? Don't you find this keen air most exhilarating?

Podb. (shivering). Oh very, do you mind putting your window up? Thanks. You seem uncommon chirpy to-day. Beginning to get over it, eh?

Culch. We shan't get over it for some hours yet.

Podb. I didn't mean the Pass, I meant – (hesitating) – well, your little affair with Miss Prendergast, you know.

Culch. My little affair? Get over? (He suddenly understands.) Oh, ah, to be sure. Yes, thank you, my dear fellow, it is not making me particularly unhappy. [He goes into a fit of silent laughter.

Podb. Glad to hear it. (To himself.) 'Jove, if he only knew what I know! [He chuckles.

Culch. You don't appear to be exactly heartbroken?

Podb. I? why should I be – about what?

Culch. (with an affectation of reserve). Exactly, I was forgetting. (To himself.) It's really rather humorous. (He laughs again.) Ha, we're beginning to go down now. Hey for Italy – la bella Italia! (The diligence takes the first curve.) Good Heavens, what a turn! We're going at rather a sharp pace for downhill, eh? I suppose these Swiss drivers know what they're about, though.

Podb. Oh, yes, generally – when they're not drunk. I can only see this fellow's boots – but they look to me a trifle squiffy.

Culch. (inspecting them, anxiously). He does seem to drive very recklessly. Look at those leaders – heading right for the precipice… Ah, just saved it! How we do lurch in swinging round!

Podb. Topheavy – I expect, too much luggage on board – have another sandwich?

Culch. Not for me, thanks. I say, I wonder if it's safe, having no parapet, only these stone posts, eh?

Podb. Safe enough – unless the wheel catches one – it was as near as a toucher just then – aren't you going to smoke? No? I am. By the way, what were you so amused about just now, eh?

Culch. Was I amused? (The vehicle gives another tremendous lurch.) Really, this is too horrible!

Podb. (with secret enjoyment.) We're right enough, if the horses don't happen to stumble. That off-leader isn't over sure-footed – did you see that? (Culch. shudders.) But what's the joke about Miss Prendergast?

Culch. (irritably). Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't bother about that now! I've something else to think about. My goodness, we were nearly over that time! What are you looking at?

Podb. (who has been leaning forward). Only one of the traces – they've done it up with a penny ball of string, but I dare say it will stand the strain. You aren't half enjoying the view, old fellow.

Culch. Yes, I am. Magnificent! – glorious! – isn't it?

Podb. Find you see it better with your eyes shut? But I say, I wish you'd explain what you were sniggering at.

Culch. Take my advice, and don't press me, my dear fellow; you may regret it if you do!

Podb. I'll risk it. It must be a devilish funny joke to tickle you like that. Come, out with it!

Culch. Well, if you must know, I was laughing… Oh, he'll never get those horses round in… I was – er – rather amused by your evident assumption that I must have been rejected by Miss Prendergast.

Podb. Oh, was that it? And you're nothing of the kind, eh?

[He chuckles again.

Culch. (with dignity). No doubt you will find it very singular; but, as a matter of fact, she – well, she most certainly did not discourage my pretensions.

Podb. The deuce she didn't! Did she tell you Ruskin's ideas about courtship being a probation, and ask you if you were ready to be under vow for her, by any chance?

Culch. This is too bad, Podbury! you must have been there, or you couldn't possibly know!

Podb. Much obliged, I'm sure. I don't listen behind doors, as a general thing. I suppose, now, she set you a trial of some kind, to prove your mettle, eh? [With another chuckle.

Culch. (furiously). Take care – or I may tell you more than you bargain for!

Podb. Go on – never mind me. Bless you, I'm under vow for her too, my dear boy. Fact!

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!

Podb. But I say, look here, Sir, we're going on, and you've got our place!

The It. G. Sank you verri moch. I 'ope so.

[He blows Podbury a kiss.

Podb. (with intense disgust). How on earth are we going to get that beggar out? Set the Conductor at him, Culchard, do – you can talk the lingo best!

Culch. (who has had enough of Podbury for the present). Talk to him yourself, my dear fellow, I'm not going to make a row. [He gets in.

Podb. (to Conductor). Hi! sprechen sie Französisch, oder was? il-y-a quelque chose dans mon siège, dites-lui de– what the deuce is the French for "clear out"?

Cond. Montez, Monsieur, nous bartons, montez vîte alors!

[He thrusts Podbury, protesting vainly, into the intérieur, with two peasants, a priest, and the elderly Englishwoman. The diligence starts again.