Scene —A hundred yards or so from the top of Monte Generoso, above Lake Lugano. Culchard, who, with a crowd of other excursionists, has made the ascent by rail, is toiling up the steep and very slippery slope to the summit.

Culch. (to himself, as he stops to pant). More climbing! I thought this line was supposed to go to the top! But that's Italian all over – hem – as Podbury would say! Wonder, by the way, if he expected to be asked to come with me. I've no reason for sacrificing myself like that any longer! (He sighs.) Ah, Hypatia, if you could know what a dreary disenchanted blank you have made of my life! And I who believed you capable of appreciating such devotion as mine!

A Voice Behind. My! If I don't know that back I'll just give up! How've you been getting along all this time, Mr. Culchard?

Culch. (turning). Miss Trotter! A most delightful and – er – unexpected meeting, indeed!

Miss Trotter. Well, we came up on the cars in front of yours. We've taken rooms at the hotel up here. Poppa reckoned the air would be kind of fresher on the top of this mountain, and I don't believe but what he's right either. I guess I shall want another hairpin through my hat. And are you still going around with Mr. Podbury? As inseparable as ever, I presume?

Culch. Er —about as inseparable. That is, we are still travelling together – only, on this particular afternoon —

Miss T. He went and got mislaid? I see. He used to stray considerable over in Germany, didn't he? Well, I'm real pleased to see you anyway. And how's the poetry been panning out? I hope you've had a pretty good yield of sonnets?

Culch. (to himself). She's really grown distinctly prettier. She might show a little more feeling, though, considering we were almost, if not quite – (Aloud.) So you remember my poor poems? I'm afraid I have not been very – er – prolific of late.

Miss T. You don't say! I should think you'd have had one to show for every day, with the date to it, like a new-laid egg.

Culch. Birds don't lay – er – I mean they don't sing, in the dark. My light has been – er – lacking of late.

Miss T. If that's intended for me, you ought to begin chirping right away. But you're not going to tell me you've been "lounjun round en sufferin'" like – wasn't it Uncle Remus's Brer Terrapin? (Catching C.'s look of bewilderment.) What, don't you know Uncle Remus?

Culch. (politely). Mr. Trotter is the only relation of yours I have had the pleasure of meeting, as yet.

Miss T. Why, I reckoned Uncle Remus was pretty most everybody's relation by now. He's a book. But likely you've no use for our national humorous literature?

Culch. I – er – must confess I seldom waste time over the humorous literature of any nation.

Miss T. I guess that accounts for your gaiety! There, don't you mind me, Mr. Culchard. But suppose we hurry along and inspect this panorama they talk so much of; it isn't going to be any side-show. It's just a real representative mass-meeting of Swiss mountains, with every prominent peak in the country on the platform, and a deputation down below from the leading Italian lakes. It's ever so elegant, – and there's Poppa around on the top too.

On the top. Tourists discovered making more or less appropriate remarks.

First Tourist (struggling with a long printed panorama, which flaps like a sail). Grand view, Sir, get 'em all from here, you see! Monte Rosa, Matterhorn, Breithorn —

[Works through them all conscientiously, until, much to everybody's relief, his panorama escapes into space.

Second T. (a lady, with the air of a person making a discovery). How wonderfully small everything looks down below!

Third T. (a British Matron, with a talent for incongruity). Yes, dear, very —quite worth coming all this way for; but as I was telling you, we've always been accustomed to such an evangelical service, so that our new Rector is really rather– but we're quite friendly of course; go there for tennis, and he dines with us, and all that. Still, I do think, when it comes to having lighted candles in broad daylight– (&c., &c.)

Fourth T. (an equally incongruous American). Wa'al, yes, they show up well, cert'nly, those peaks do. But I was about to remark, Sir, I went to that particular establishment on Fleet Street. I called for a chop. And when it came, I don't deny I felt disappointed, for the plate all around was just as dry– ! But the moment I struck a fork into that chop, Sir, – well, the way the gravy just came gushing out was – there, it ain't no use me trying to put it in words! But from that instant, Sir, I kinder realized the peculiar charm of your British chop.

Fifth T. (a discontented Teuton). I exbected more as zis. It is nod glear enough – nod at all. Zey dolt me from ze dop you see Milan. I look all aroundt. Novere I see Milan! And I lief my obera-glass behint me in ze drain, and I slib on ze grass and sbrain my mittle finger, and altogedder I do not vish I had com.

Miss T. (presenting Culchard to Mr. Cyrus K. T.). I guess you've met this gentleman before!

Mr. T. Well now, that's so. I didn't just reckon I'd meet him again all this way above the sea-level though, but I'm just as pleased to see him. Rode up on the cars, I presume, Sir? Tolerable hilly road all the way, ain't it now? There cann't anybody say we hain't made the most of our time since you left us. Took a run over to Berlin; had two hours and a haff in that city, and I dunno as I keered about making a more pro-tracted visit. Went right through to Vi-enna, saw round Vi-enna. I did want, being so near, to just waltz into Turkey and see that. But I guess Turkey 'll have to keep till next time. Then back again into Switzerland, for I do seem to have kinder taken a fancy to Switzerland. I'd like to have put in more time there, and we stayed best part of a week too! But Italy's an interesting place. Yes, I'm getting considerable interested in Italy, so far as I've got. There's Geneva now —

Miss T. You do beat anything for mixing up places, Father. And you don't want to be letting yourself loose on Mr. Culchard this way. You'd better go and bring Mr. Van Boodeler along; he's round somewhere.

Mr. T. I do like slinging off when I meet a friend; but I'll shut down, Maud, I'll shut down.

Miss T. Oh, there you are, Charley! Come right here, and be introduced to Mr. Culchard. He's a vurry intelligent man. My cousin, Mr. Charles Van Boodeler, – Mr. Culchard. Mr. Van Boodeler's intelligent too. He's going to write our great National Amurrcan novel, soon as ever he has time for it. That's so, isn't it?

Mr. V. B. (a slim, pale young man, with a cosmopolitan air and a languid drawl). It's our most pressing national need, Sir, and I have long cherished the intention of supplying it. I am collecting material, and, when the psychological moment arrives, I shall write that novel. And I believe it will be a big thing, a very big thing; I mean to make it a complete compendium of every phase of our great and complicated civilization from State to State and from shore to shore. [Culchard bows vaguely.

Miss T. Yes, and the great Amurrcan public are going to rise up in their millions and boom it. Only I don't believe they'd better start booming just yet, till there's something more than covers to that novel. And how you're going to collect material for an Amurrcan novel, flying round Europe, just beats me!

Mr. V. B. (with superiority). Because you don't realize that it's precisely in Europe that I find my best American types. Our citizens show up better against a European background, – it excites and stimulates their nationality, so to speak. And again, with a big subject like mine, you want to step back to get the proper focus. Now I'm stepping back.

Miss T. I guess it's more like skipping, Charley. But so long as you're having a good time! And here's Mr. Culchard will fix you up some sonnets for headings to the chapters. You needn't begin right away, Mr. Culchard; I guess there's no hurry. But we get talking and talking, and never look at anything. I don't call it encouraging the scenery, and that's a fact!

Mr. T. (later, to Culchard). And you're pretty comfortable at your hotel? Well, I dunno, after all, what there is to keep us here. I guess we'll go down again and stop at Lugano, eh, Maud?

[Culchard eagerly awaits her reply.

Miss T. I declare! After bringing all my trunks way up here! But I'd just as soon move down as not; they're not unpacked any. (Joy of C.) Seems a pity, too, after engaging rooms here. And they looked real nice. Mr. Culchard, don't you and Mr. Podbury want to come up here and take them? They've a perfectly splendid view, and then we could have yours, you know! (C. cannot conceal his chagrin at this suggestion.) Well, see here, Poppa, we'll go along and try if we can't square the hotel-clerk and get our baggage on the cars again, and then we'll see just how we feel about it. I'm purrfectly indifferent either way.

Culch. (to himself, as he follows). Can she be really as indifferent as she seems? I'm afraid she has very little heart! But if only she can be induced to go back to Lugano… She will be at the same hotel – a great point! I wish that fellow Van Boodeler wasn't coming too, though… Not that they've settled to come at all yet!.. Still, I fancy she likes the idea… She'll come – if I don't appear too anxious about it!

[He walks on, trying to whistle carelessly.

CHAPTER XIV.
Miss Banquo

Scene —Gardens belonging to the Hôtel du Parc, Lugano. Time, afternoon; the orchestra is turning up in a kiosk. Culchard is seated on a bench in the shade, keeping an anxious eye upon the opposite door.

Culch. (to himself). She said she had a headache, and made her father and Van Boodeler go out on the lake without her. But she certainly gave me to understand that she might come out when the band played, if she felt better. The question is, whether she means to feel better or not. She is the most tantalizing girl! I don't know what to make of her. Not a single reference, as yet, to that last talk we had at Bingen. I must see if I can't recall it to her memory – if she comes. I'll wait here, on the chance of it – we are not likely to be dis – . Confound it all – Podbury! (with suppressed irritation as Podbury comes up). Well, do you want anything in particular?

Podb. (cheerfully, as he sits down). Only the pleasure of your society, old chap. How nicely you do put things!

Culch. The – er – fact is, I can't promise to be a particularly lively companion just now.

Podb. Not by way of a change? Ah, well, it's a pity – but I must put up with you as you are, I suppose. You see – (with a grin) – I've got that vow to work out.

Culch. Possibly – but I haven't. As I've already told you – I retire.

Podb. Wobbled back to Miss Trotter again, eh? Matter of taste, of course, but, for my part, I think your first impression of her was nearer the truth – she's not what I call a highly cultivated sort of girl, y' know.

Culch. You are naturally exacting on that point, but have the goodness to leave my first impressions alone, and – er – frankly, Podbury, I see no necessity (now, at all events) to take that ridiculous – hum – penance too literally. We are travelling together, and I imagine that is enough for Miss Prendergast.

Podb. It's enough for me– especially when you make yourself so doosid amiable as this. You needn't alarm yourself – you won't have any more of my company than I can help; only I must say, for two fellows who came out to do a tour together, it's – [Walks away, grumbling.

Later. The band has finished playing; Miss Trotter is on the bench with Culchard.

Miss T. And you mean to tell me you've never met anybody since you even cared to converse with?

Culch. (diplomatically). Does that strike you as so very incredible?

Miss T. Well, it strikes me as just a little too thin. I judged you'd go away, and forget I ever existed.

Culch. (with tender reproach). How little you know me! I may not be an – er – demonstrative man, my – er – feelings are not easily roused, but, once roused, well – (wounded) – I think I may claim to possess an ordinary degree of constancy!

Miss T. Well, I'm sure I ought to feel it a vurry high compliment to have you going round grieving all this time on my account.

Culch. Grieving! Ah, if I could only tell you what I went through! (Decides, on reflection, that the less he says about this the better.) But all that is past. And now may I not expect a more definite answer to the question I asked at Bingen? Your reply then was – well, a little ambiguous.

Miss T. I guess it's got to be just about as ambiguous now – there don't seem anything I can say. There's times when I feel as if it might be sort of elevating and improving to have you shining around; and there's other times when I suspect that, if it went on for any considerable period, likely I'd weaken. I'm not just sure. And I cann't ever make myself believe but what you're disapproving of me, inside of you, most all the time!

Culch. Pray dismiss such – er – morbid misgivings, dear Miss Trotter. Show that you do so by accepting me as your guide and companion through life!

Miss T. My! but that sounds like a proposal?

Culch. I intended it to bear that – er – construction. It is a proposal – made after the fullest reflection.

Miss T. I'm ever so obliged. But we don't fix things quite that way in my country. We want to feel pretty sure, first, we shann't get left. And it don't seem to me as if I'd had opportunities enough of studying your leading characteristics. I'll have to study them some more before I know whereabouts I am; and I want you to understand that I'm not going to commit myself to anything at present. That mayn't be sentiment, but I guess it's common-sense, anyway. And all you've got to do is, just to keep around, and kind of impress me with a conviction that you're the vurry brightest and best man in the entire universe, and I don't believe you'll find much difficulty about that. And now I guess we'll go into table d'hôte– I'm just as ravenous!

Culch. (to himself, as he follows her). Really, this is not much better than Ruskin, after all. But I don't despair. That last remark was distinctly encouraging!

Scene —A large Salle à Manger, decorated in the Pompeian style. Table d'hôte has begun. Culchard is seated between Miss Trotter and a large and conversational stranger. Opposite are three empty chairs.

Culchard's Neighbour. Then you're going on to Venice? Well, you take my advice. When you get there, you ask for tunny. Don't forget —tunny!

Culch. (who wants to talk to Miss T.). Tunny? Thank you. I – er – will certainly remember his name, if I require a guide.

His N. A guide? No, no – tunny's a fish, Sir, a coarse red fish, with flesh like a raw beefsteak.

Culch. Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it – if I want raw beefsteak. [Attempts to turn to Miss T.

His N. That's what I did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager. He came. I said to him, "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's Bellerby. (Culchard bows in patient boredom.) I've heard of your Venetian tunny. I wish to taste it. Bring me some!"

Culch. (crushingly). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no doubt. (To Waiter.) Numéro vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et siphon!

His N. You don't wait till I've done, Sir! I didn't obtain it – not at first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for that. I told him plainly, "I know what you're thinking – it's a cheap fish, and you fancy I'm ordering it out of economy!"

Culch. (raising his eyebrows for Miss T.'s benefit). Of course, he naturally would think so. And that is how you got your tunny? I see.

[Mr. Bellerby stares at him suspiciously, and decides to suppress the remainder of his tunny.

Miss T. This hotel seems to be thinning some. We've three ghosts right in front of us this evening.

Culch. (turning with effusion). So we have! My friend is one, and he'll be here presently, but I much prefer myself to see every seat occupied. There is something so depressing about a vacant chair, don't you think?

Miss T. It's calculated to put one in mind of Macbeth's little dinner-party, certainly. But you can cheer up, Mr. Culchard, here comes a couple of belated Banquos. My gracious, I do like that girl's face – she has such a perfectly lovely expression, and looks real superior too!

Culch. (who has just dropped his glasses into his soup). I – ah – which lady are you referring to? (He cleans and adjusts his glasses – to discover that he is face to face with Miss Hypatia Prendergast.) Oh … I – I see – precisely, quite so! (He turns to Bellerby to cover his confusion and avoid meeting Miss Prendergast's eye.) I beg your pardon, you were describing how you caught a tunny? Pray continue.

Mr. Bellerby (stiffly). Excuse me, I don't seem fortunate enough to have secured your undivided attention.

Culch. (with intense interest). Quite the contrary, I assure you! You were saying you always ordered it out of economy?

Mr. B. Pardon me– I was saying nothing of the sort. I was saying that I told the Manager I knew that was why he thought I ordered it – a rather different thing! "You're quite wrong," I said. "You may pay twopence-halfpenny a pound for it, and charge me half-a-crown, if you like, but I mean to taste that tunny!" I was determined not to be done out of my tunny, Sir!

Culch. (breathlessly). And what did the tunny – I mean the Manager – say to that?

Mr. B. Oh, made more difficulties – it wasn't to be got, and so on. At last I said to him (very quietly, but he saw I was in earnest), "Now I tell you what it is– I'm going to have that tunny, and, if you refuse to give it me, – well, I shall just send my courier out for it, that's all!" So, with that, they brought me some – and anything more delicious I never tasted in all my life!

Culch. (to himself). If I can only keep him on at this tunny! (Aloud.) And – er – what does it taste like exactly, now?

Mr. B. (pregnantly.) You order it, Sir —insist on having it. Then you'll know what it tastes like! [He devotes himself to his soup.

Culch. (with his eyes lowered – to himself.) I must look up in another minute– and then! [He shivers.

CHAPTER XV.
Culchard comes out Nobly

Scene —The Table d'Hôte at Lugano; Culchard has not yet caught Miss Prendergast's eye.

Culchard (to Mr. Bellerby). Have you – ah – been up Monte Generoso yet?

Mr. B. No. (After reflecting.) No, I haven't. But I was greatly struck by its remarkably bold outline from below. Indeed, I dashed off a rough sketch of it on the back of one of my visiting cards. I ought to have it somewhere about me now. (Searching himself.) Ah, I thought so! (Handing a vague little scrawl to Culchard, who examines it with the deepest interest.) I knock off quite a number of these while I'm abroad like this. Send 'em in letters to relatives at home – gives them a notion of the place. They are – ar – kind enough to value them. (Culchard makes a complimentary mumble.) Yes, I'm a very rapid sketcher. Put me with regular artists, and give us half an hour, and I – ar – venture to say I should be on terms with them. Make it three hours, and – well, I dare say I shouldn't be in it.

Podbury (who has dropped into the chair next to Miss Prendergast and her brother). Bob, old chap, I'll come in the middle, if you don't mind. I say, this is ripping – no idea of coming across you so soon as this. (Lowering his voice, to Miss P.) Still pegging away at my "penance," you see!

Miss Prend. The pleasure is more than mutual; but do I understand that Mr. – ? So tiresome, I left my glasses up in my room!

[She peers up and down the line of faces on her own side of the table.

Miss T. (to Culch.). I want you should notice that girl. I think she looks just as nice as she can be, don't you?

Culch. (carefully looking in every other direction). I – er – mumble – mumble – don't exactly —

[Here a Waiter offers him a dish containing layers of soles disguised under brown sauce; Culchard mangles it with an ineffectual spoon. The Waiter, with pitying contempt, "Tut-tut-tut! Pesce, Signore – feesh!" Culch. eventually lands a sole in a very damaged condition.

Podb. (to Miss P.). No – not this side – just opposite. (Here Culch., in fingering a siphon which is remarkably stiff on the trigger, contrives to send a spray across the table and sprinkle Miss Prendergast, her brother, and Podbury, with impartial liberality). Now don't you see him? As playful as ever, isn't he! Don't try to make out it was an accident, old fellow. Miss Prendergast knows you! [Misery of Culchard.

Miss P. (graciously). Pray don't apologize, Mr. Culchard; not the least harm done! You must forgive me for not recognizing you before, but you know of old how provokingly short-sighted I am, and I've forgotten my glasses.

Culch. (indistinctly). I – er – not at all … most distressed, I assure you … really no notion —

Miss T. (in an undertone). Say, you know her, then? And you never let on!

Culch. Didn't I? Oh, surely! yes, I've – er —met that lady. (With grateful deference to Mr. Bellerby, who has just addressed him.) You are an Art-Collector? Indeed? And – er – have you – er – ?

Mr. B. I've the three finest Bodgers in the kingdom, Sir, and there's a Gubbins – a Joe Gubbins, mind you, not John– that's hanging now in the morning-room of my place in the country that I wouldn't take a thousand pounds for! I go about using my eyes, and pick 'em up cheap. Cheapest picture I ever bought was a Prout – thirty-two by twenty; got it for two pound ten! Unfinished, of course, but it only wanted the colour being brought up to the edge. I did that. Took me half a day, and now– well, any dealer would give me hundreds for it! But I shall leave it to the nation, out of respect for Prout's memory.

Bob Pr. (to Podbury). Yes, came over by the St. Gothard. Who is that girl who was talking to Culchard just now? Do you know her? I say, I wish you'd introduce me some time.

Miss T. (to Culchard). You don't seem vurry bright this evening. I'd like you to converse with your friend opposite, so I could get a chance to chip in. I'm ever so interested in that girl!

Culch. Presently – presently, if I have an opportunity. (Hastily to Mr. B.) I gather that you paint yourself, Sir?

Mr. B. Well, yes. I assure you I often go to a Gallery, see a picture there that takes my fancy, go back to my office, and paint it in half an hour from memory – so like the original that, if it were framed, and hung up alongside, it would puzzle the man who painted it to know t'other from which! I have indeed! I paint original pictures, too. Most important thing I ever did was – let me see now – three feet by two and three-quarters. I was most successful in getting an effect of rose-coloured snow against the sky. I sponged it up, and – well, it came right somehow. Luck, that was, not skill, you know. I sent that picture to the Royal Academy, and they did me the honour to – ar – reject it.

Culch. (vaguely). An – er – honour, indeed. – (In despair, as Mr. B. rises.) – You – You're not going!

Mr. B. (consolingly). Only into the garden, for coffee. I observe you are interested in Art. We will – ar – resume this conversation later.

[Rises; Miss Prendergast rises too, and goes towards the garden.

Culch. (as he follows, hastily). I must get this business over – if I can. But I wish I knew exactly how much to tell her. It's really very awkward – between the two of them. I'm afraid I've been a little too precipitate.

IN THE GARDEN; A FEW MINUTES LATER.

Miss Prend. (who has retired to fetch her glasses – with gracious playfulness). Well, Mr. Culchard, and how has my knight performed his lady's behests?

Culch. May I ask which knight you refer to?

Miss P. (slightly changing countenance). Which! Then – you know there is another? Surely there is nothing in that circumstance to – to offend – or hurt you?

Culch. Offended? (Considers whether this would be a good line to take.) Hardly that. Hurt? Well, I confess to being pained – very much pained, to discover that I was unconsciously pitted – against Podbury!

Miss P. But why? I have expressed no preference as yet. You can scarcely have become so attached to him that you dread the result of a successful rivalry!

Culch. (to himself). It's a loop-hole – I'll try it. (Aloud.) You have divined my feeling exactly. In – er – obeying your commands, I have learned to know Podbury better – to see in him a sterling nature, more worthy, in some respects, than my own. And I know how deeply he has centred all his hopes upon you, Miss Prendergast. Knowing, seeing that as I – er —do, I feel that – whatever it costs me – I cannot run the risk of wrecking the – er – life's happiness of so good a fellow. So you must really allow me to renounce vows accepted under – er – an imperfect comprehension of the – er – facts! [Wipes his brow.

Miss P. This is quite too Quixotic. Reflect, Mr. Culchard. Is such a sacrifice demanded of you? I assure you I am perfectly neutral at present. I might prefer Mr. Podbury. I really don't know. And – and I don't like losing one of my suitors like this!

Culch. Don't tempt me! I – I mustn't listen, I cannot. No, I renounce. Be kind to Podbury – try to recognize the good in him … he is so devoted to you – make him happy, if you can!

Miss P. (affected). I – I really can't tell you how touched I am, Mr. Culchard. I can guess what this renunciation must have cost you. It – it gives me a better opinion of human nature … it does, indeed!

Culch. (loftily, as she rises to go in). Ah, Miss Prendergast, don't lose your faith in human nature! Trust me, it is – er – full of surprises! (Alone.) Now am I an abominable humbug, or what? I swear I felt every word I said, at the time. Curious psychological state to be in. But I'm out of what might have been a very unpleasant mess, at all events!

Miss T. (coming upon him from round a corner). Well, I'm sure, Mr. Culchard!

Culch. You are a young lady of naturally strong convictions, I am aware. But what are you so sure of at the present moment?

Miss T. Well, I guess I'm not just as sure of you as I should like to be, anyway. Seems to me, considering you've been so vurry inconsolable away from me, you'd a good deal to say to that young lady in the patent folders. And I'd like an explanation – you're right down splendid at explaining most things.

Culch. (with virtuous indignation). So you actually suspect me of having carried on a flirtation!

Miss T. I guess girls don't use their pocket-handkerchiefs that way over the weather. Who is she, anyway?

Culch. (calmly). If you insist on knowing, she is the lady to whom Mr. Podbury has every prospect of being engaged. I hope your mind is at ease now?

Miss T. Well, I expect my mind would have stood the strain as it was – so it's Mr. Podbury who's her admirer? See here, you're going to introduce me to that girl right away. It's real romantic, and I'm perfectly dying to make her acquaintance!

Culch. Hum – well. She is – er —peculiar, don't you know, and I rather doubt whether you will have much in common.

Miss T. Well, if you don't introduce me, I shall introduce myself, that's all.

Culch. By all means. (To himself.) Not if I can prevent it, though!