Culchard. So I am. That is, she is going over a metal-worker's show-room close by, and I – er – preferred the open air. But didn't you say you were going out with the – er – Prendergasts again?

Podb. So I am. She's in the Church with Bob, so I said I'd come out and keep an eye on the gondola. Nothing much to see in there, you know!

Culch. (with a weary irony). Only the mausoleums of the Doges – Ruskin's "Street of the Tombs" – and a few trifles of that sort!

Podb. That's all. And I'm feeling a bit done, you know. Been doing the Correr Museum all the morning, and not lunched yet! So Miss Trotter's looking at ornamental metal-work? Rather fun that, eh?

Culch. For those who enjoy it. She has only been in there an hour, so she is not likely to come back just yet. What do you say to coming into S. S. Giovanni e Paulo again, with me? Those tombs form a really remarkable illustration, as Ruskin points out, of the gradual decay of —

Miss Trotter (suddenly flutters up, followed by an attendant carrying a studded halberd, an antique gondola-hook, and two copper water-buckets – all of which are consigned to the disgusted Culchard). Just hold these a spell till I come back. Thanks ever so much… Well, Mr. Podbury! Aren't you going to admire my purchases? They're real antique – or if they aren't, they'll wear all the better… There, I believe I'll just have to run back a minute – don't you put those things in the gondola yet, Mr. Culchard, or they'll get stolen. [She flutters off.

Culch. (helplessly, as he holds the halberd, &c.). I suppose I shall have to stay here now. You're not going?

Podb. (consulting his watch). Must. Promised old Bob I'd relieve guard in ten minutes. Ta-ta.

[He goes; presently Bob Prendergast lounges out of the church.

Culch. If I could only make a friend of him! (To Bob.) Ah, Prendergast! lovely afternoon, isn't it? Delicious breeze!

Bob (shortly). Can't say. Not had much of it, at present.

Culch. You find these old churches rather oppressive, I dare say. Er – will you have a cigarette? [Tenders case.

Bob. Thanks; got a pipe. (He lights it.) Where's Miss Trotter?

Culch. She will be here presently. By the way, my dear Prendergast, this – er – misunderstanding between your sister and her is very unfortunate.

Bob. I know that well enough. It's none of my doing! And you've no reason to complain, at all events!

Culch. Quite so. Only, you see, we used to be good friends at Constance, and – er – until recently —

Bob. Used we? Of course, if you say so, it's all right. But what are you driving at exactly?

Culch. All I am driving at is this: Couldn't we two – er – agree to effect a reconciliation between the two ladies? So much pleasanter for – er – all parties!

Bob. I dare say. But how are you going to set about it? I can't begin.

Culch. Couldn't you induce your sister to lay aside her – er – prejudice against me? Then I could easily —

Bob. Very likely – but I couldn't. I never interfere in my sister's affairs, and, to tell you the honest truth, I don't feel particularly inclined to make a beginning on your account. [Strolls away.

Culch. (to himself). What a surly boor it is! But I don't care – I'll do him a good turn, in spite of himself! (Miss T. returns.) Do you know, I've just been having a chat with poor young Prendergast. He seems quite cut up at being forced to side with his sister. I undertook to – er – intercede for him. Now is it quite fair, or like your – er – usual good-nature, to visit his sister's offences – whatever they are – on him? I – I only put it to you.

Miss T. Well, to think now! I guess you're about the most unselfish saint on two legs! Now some folks would have felt jealous.

Culch. Possibly – but I cannot accuse myself of such a failing as that.

Miss T. I'd just like to hear you accuse yourself of any failing! I don't see however you manage to act so magnanimous and live. I told you I wanted to study your character, and I believe it isn't going to take me vurry much longer to make up my mind about you. You don't suppose I'll have any time for Mr. Prendergast after getting such a glimpse into your nature? There, help me into the gondola, and don't talk any more about it. Tell him to go to Salviate's right away.

Culch. (dejectedly to himself). I've bungled it! I might have known I should only make matters worse!

On the Piazzetta; it is moonlight, the Campanile and dome of San Giorgio Maggiore are silhouetted sharp and black against the steel-blue sky across a sea of silver ripples. Podbury and Culchard are pacing slowly arm-in-arm between the two columns.

Culch. And so you went on to S. Giovanni in Bragora, eh? then over the Arsenal, and rowed across the lagoons to see the Armenian convent? A delightful day, my dear Podbury! I hope you – er – appreciate the inestimable privileges of – of seeing Venice so thoroughly?

Podb. Oh, of course it's very jolly. Find I get a trifle mixed afterwards, though. And, between ourselves, I wouldn't mind – now and then, you know – just dawdling about among the shops and people, as you and the Trotters do!

Culch. That has its charm, no doubt. But don't you find Miss Prendergast a mine of information on Italian Art and History?

Podb. Don't I just – rather too deep for me, y' know! I say, isn't Miss Trotter immense sport in the shops and that?

Culch. She is – er – vivacious, certainly. (Podbury sighs.) You seem rather dull to-night, my dear fellow?

Podb. Not dull – a trifle out of sorts, that's all. Fact is, I don't think Venice agrees with me. All this messing about down beastly back-courts and canals and in stuffy churches – it can't be healthy, you know! And they've no drainage. I only hope I haven't caught something, as it is. I've that kind of sinking feeling, and a general lowness —She says I lunch too heavily – but I swear it's more than that!

Culch. Nonsense, you're well enough. And why you should feel low, with all your advantages – in Venice as you are, and in constant intercourse with a mind adorned with every feminine gift – !

Podb. Hul-lo! why, I thought you called her a pedantic prig?

Culch. If I used such a term at all, it was in no disparaging sense. Every earnest nature presents an – er – priggish side at times. I know that even I myself have occasionally, and by people who didn't know me of course, been charged with priggishness.

Podb. Have you, though? But of course there's nothing of that about her. Only – well, it don't signify. [He sighs.

Culch. Ah, Podbury, take the good the gods provide you and be content! You might be worse off, believe me!

Podb. (discontentedly). It's all very well for you to talk – with Miss Trotter all to yourself. I suppose you're regularly engaged by this time, eh?

Culch. Not quite. There's still a – And your probation, that's practically at an end?

Podb. I don't know. Can't make her out. She wouldn't sit on me the way she does unless she liked me, I suppose. But I say, it must be awf – rather jolly for you with Miss Trotter? She's got so much go, eh?

Culch. You used to say she wasn't what you call cultivated.

Podb. I know I did. That's just what I like about her! At least – well, we both ought to think ourselves uncommonly lucky beggars, I'm sure! [He sighs more heavily than ever.

Culch. You especially, my dear Podbury. In fact, I doubt if you're half grateful enough!

Podb. (snappishly). Yes, I am, I tell you. I'm not grumbling, am I? I know as well as you do she's miles too good for me. Haven't I said so? Then what the devil do you keep on nagging at me for, eh?

Culch. I am glad you see it in that light. Aren't you a little irritable to-night?

Podb. No, I'm not. It's those filthy canals. And the way you talk – as if a girl like Miss Trotter wasn't – !

Culch. I really can't allow you to lecture me. I am not insensible to my good-fortune – if others are. Now we'll drop the subject.

Podb. I'm willing enough to drop it. And I shall turn in now – it's late. You coming?

Culch. Not yet. Good-night. (To himself, as Podbury departs.) You tasteless dolt!

Podb. Good-night! (To himself, as he swings off.) Confounded patronizing prig!

CHAPTER XXIII.
PEARLS AND PIGS

Scene —The Lower Hall of the Scuola di San Rocco, Venice. British Tourists discovered studying the Tintorets on the walls and ceiling by the aid of Ruskin, Hare, and Bædeker, from which they read aloud, instructively, to one another. Miss Prendergast has brought "The Stones of Venice" for the benefit of her brother and Podbury. Long self-repression has reduced Podbury to that unpleasantly hysterical condition known as "a fit of the giggles," which, however, has hitherto escaped detection.

Miss P. (standing opposite "The Flight into Egypt" reading). "One of the principal figures here is the Donkey." Where is Mr. Podbury? [To P., who reappears, humbly proffering a tin focussing-case.] Thanks, but you need not have troubled! "The Donkey … um – um – never seen – um – um – any of the nobler animals so sublime as this quiet head of the domestic ass" – (here Bob digs Podbury in the ribs behind Miss P.'s back) – "chiefly owing to the grand motion in the nostril, and writhing in the ears." (A spasmodic choke from Podbury.) May I ask what you find so amusing?

Podb. (crimson). I – I beg your pardon – I don't know what I was laughing at exactly. (Aside to Bob.) Will you shut up, confound you!

A Stout Lady (close by, reading from Hare). "The whole symmetry of it depending on a narrow line of light." (Dubiously, to her Daughter.) I don't quite– oh yes, I do now – that's it – where my sunshade is – "the edge of a carpenter's square, which connects those unused tools" … h'm – can you make out the "unused tools," Ethel? I can't… But he says – "The Ruined House is the Jewish Dispensation." Now I should never have found that out for myself. (They pass to another canvas.) "Tintoret denies himself all aid from the features… No time allowed for watching the expression."… (That reminds me – what is the time by your bracelet, darling?) "No blood, no stabbing, or cutting … but an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro." (Ah, yes, indeed! Do you see it, love? – in the right-hand corner.) "So that our eyes " – (comfortably) – "seem to become blood-shot, and strained with strange horror, and deadly vision." (Not one o'clock, really? – and we've to meet Papa outside Florian's for lunch at one-thirty! Dear me, we mustn't stay too long over this room.)

A Solemn Gentleman (struggling with a troublesome cough, who is also provided with Hare, reading aloud to his wife). "Further enhanced by – rook – rook – rook! – a largely-made – rook – ook! – farm-servant, leaning on a ork-ork – ork – ork – or – ook! – basket. Shall I – ork! – go on?"

His Wife. Yes, dear, do, please! It makes one notice things so much more! [The Solemn Gentleman goes on.

Miss P. (as they reach the staircase). Now just look at this Titian, Mr. Podbury! Ruskin particularly mentions it. Do note the mean and petty folds of the drapery, and compare them with those in the Tintorets in there.

Podb. (obediently). Yes, I will, – a – did you mean now– and will it take me long, because – [Miss Prendergast sweeps on scornfully.

Podb. (following, with a desperate effort to be intelligent). They don't seem to have any Fiammingoes here.

Miss P. (freezingly, over her shoulder). Any what, Mr. Podbury? Flamingoes?

Podb. (confidently, having noted down the name at the Accademia on his shirt-cuff). No, "Ignoto Fiammingo," don't you know. I like that chap's style – what I call thoroughly Venetian.

[Well-informed persons in front overhear and smile.

Miss P. (annoyed). That is rather strange – because "Ignoto Fiammingo" happens to be merely the Italian for "an unknown Fleming," Mr. Podbury. [Collapse of Podbury.

Bob. (aside to Podbury). You great owl, you came a cropper that time!

[He and Podbury indulge in a subdued bear-fight up the stairs, after which they enter the Upper Hall in a state of preternatural solemnity.

The Solemn G. Now what I want to see, my dear, is the ork – ork – angel that Ruskin thinks Tintoretto painted the day after he saw a rook – kic – kic – kic – kingfisher.

[Bob nudges Podbury, who resists temptation heroically.

Miss P. (reading)… "the fig-tree which, by a curious caprice, has golden ribs to all its leaves." – Do you see the ribs, Mr. Podbury?

Podb. (feebly). Y – yes. I believe I do. Think they grew that sort of fig-tree formerly, or is it – a —allegorical?

Miss P. (receiving this query in crushing silence). The ceiling requires careful study. Look at that oblong panel in the centre – with the fiery serpents, which Ruskin finely compares to "winged lampreys." You're not looking in the right way to see them, Mr. Podbury!

Podb. (faintly). I – I did see them —all of them, on my honour I did! But it gives me such a crick in my neck!

Miss P. Surely Tintoret is worth a crick in the neck. Did you observe "the intense delight in biting expressed in their eyes"?

Bob. (frivolously). I did, 'Patia – exactly the same look I observed last night, in a mosquito's eye.

[Podbury has to use his handkerchief violently.

The Stout Lady. Now, Ethel, we can just spend ten minutes on the ceiling – and then we must go. That's evidently Jonah in the small oval (referring to plan). Yes, I thought so, – it is Jonah. Ruskin considers "the whale's tongue much too large, unless it is a kind of crimson cushion for Jonah to kneel upon." Well, why not?

Ethel. A cushion, Mother? what, inside the whale!

The Stout Lady. That we are not told, my love – "The submissiveness of Jonah is well given" – So true – but Papa can't bear being kept waiting for his lunch – we really ought to go now. [They go.

The Solemn G. (reading). "There comes up out of the mist a dark hand." Have you got the dark hand yet, my dear?

His Wife. No, dear, only the mist. At least, there's something that may be a branch; or a bird of some sort.

The S. G. Ha, it's full of suggestion, full of suggestion!

[He passes on, coughing.

Miss P. (to Podbury, who is still quivering). Now notice the end one – "the Fall of Manna" – not that end; that's the "Fall of Man." Ruskin points out (reading) "A very sweet incident. Four or five sheep, instead of pasturing, turn their heads to catch the manna as it comes down" (here Bob catches Podbury's eye), "or seem to be licking it off each other's fleeces." (Podbury is suddenly convulsed by inexplicable and untimely mirth.) Really, Mr. Podbury, this is too disgraceful!

[She shuts the book sharply and walks away.

OUTSIDE; BY THE LANDING STEPS

Miss P. Bob, go on and get the gondola ready. I wish to speak to Mr. Podbury. (To Podbury, after Bob has withdrawn.) Mr. Podbury, I cannot tell you how disgusted and disappointed I feel at your senseless irreverence.

Podb. (penitently). I – I'm really most awfully sorry – but it came over me suddenly, and I simply couldn't help myself!

Miss P. That is what makes it so very hopeless – after all the pains I have taken with you! I have been beginning to fear for some time that you are incorrigible – and to-day is really the last straw! So it is kinder to let you know at once that you have been tried and found wanting. I have no alternative but to release you finally from your vows – I cannot allow you to remain my suitor any longer.

Podb. (humbly). I was always afraid I shouldn't last the course, don't you know. I did my best – but it wasn't in me, I suppose. It was awfully good of you to put up with me so long. And, I say, you won't mind our being friends still, will you now?

Miss P. Of course not. I shall always wish you well, Mr. Podbury – only I won't trouble you to accompany me to any more galleries!

Podb. A – thanks. I – I mean, I know I should only be in your way and all that. And – I'd better say good-bye, Miss Prendergast. You won't want me in the gondola just now, I'm sure. I can easily get another.

Miss P. Well – good-bye then, Mr. Podbury. I will explain to Bob.

[She steps into the gondola; Bob raises his eyebrows in mute interrogation at Podbury, who shakes his head, and allows the gondola to go without him.

Podb. (to himself as the gondola disappears). So that's over! Hanged if I don't think I'm sorry, after all. It will be beastly lonely without anybody to bully me, and she could be awfully nice when she chose… Still it is a relief to have got rid of old Tintoret, and not to have to bother about Bellini and Cima and that lot… How that beggar Culchard will crow when he hears of it! Shan't tell him anything – if I can help it… But the worst of getting the sack is – people are almost bound to spot you… I think I'll be off to-morrow. I've had enough of Venice!

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE

Scene —The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the façade gleam a greenish silver in the moonlight. The shadow of the Campanile falls, black and broad, across the huge square, which is crowded with people listening to the Military Band, and taking coffee, &c., outside the cafés. Miss Trotter and Culchard are seated at one of the little tables in front of the Quadri.

Miss T. I'd like ever so much to know why it is you're so anxious to see that Miss Prendergast and me friendly again? After she's been treating you this long while like you were a toad – and not a popular kind of toad at that!

Culch. (wincing). Of course I am only too painfully aware of – of a certain distance in her manner towards me, but I should not think of allowing myself to be influenced by any – er – merely personal considerations of that sort.

Miss T. That's real noble! And I presume, now, you cann't imagine any reason why she's been treading you so flat.

Culch. (with a shrug). I really haven't troubled to speculate. Who can tell how one may, quite unconsciously, give offence – even to those who are – er – comparative strangers?

Miss T. Just so. (A pause.) Well, Mr. Culchard, if I wanted anything to confirm my opinion of you, I guess you've given it me!

Culch. (internally). It's very unfortunate that she will insist on idealizing 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.

Culch. (bitterly). In other words, you have behaved like a heartless coquette!

Miss T. You may put it at that if you like. Maybe it wouldn't have been just the square thing to do if you'd been a different sort of man – but you wanted to be taught that you couldn't have all the fun of flirtation on your side, and I wasn't afraid the emotional strain was going to shatter you up to any serious extent. Now it's left off amusing me, and I guess it's time to stop. I'm as perfectly aware as I can be that you've been searching around for some way of getting out of it this long while back – so there's no use of your denying you'll be real enchanted to get your liberty again!

Culch. I may return your charming candour by admitting that my – er – dismissal will be – well, not wholly without its consolations.

Miss T. Then that's all right! And if you'll be obliging enough to hunt up my Poppa and send him along, I guess I can dispense with your further escort, and you can commence those consolations right away.

Culch. (alone). The little vixen! Saw I was getting tired of it, and took care to strike first. Clever – but a trifle crude. But I'm free now. Unfortunately my freedom comes too late. Podbury's Titania is much too enamoured of those ass's ears of his – How the brute will chuckle when he hears of this! But he won't hear of it from me. I'll go in and pack and be off to-morrow morning before he's up!

NEXT MORNING; IN THE HALL OF THE GRAND HOTEL DANDOLO

The German Porter (a stately person in a gold-laced uniform and a white waistcoat, escaping from importunate visitors). In von momendt, Matam, I attend to you. You want a larcher roûm, Sare? You address ze manager, blease. Your dronks, Laties? I haf zem brod down, yes.

A Lady. Oh, Porter, we want a gondola this afternoon to go to the Lido, and do try if you can get us Beppo – that nice gondolier, you know, we had yesterday!

The Porter. Ach! I do nod know any nah-ice gondolier – zey are oal – I dell you, if you lif viz zem ade mons as me, you cot your troat – yes!

Another Lady. Porter, can you tell me the name of the song that man is singing in the barge there?

Porter. I gannot dell you ze name – pecause zey sing always ze same ting!

A Helpless Man in Knickerbockers (drifting in at the door). Here, I say. We engaged rooms here by telegram from Florence. What am I to give these fellows from the station? Combien, you know!

Porter. You gif zem two franc – and zen zey vill gromble. You haf engage roûms? yes. Zat vill pe oal rahit – Your loggage in ze gondola, yes? I haf it taken op.

The H. M. No, it's left behind at Bologna. My friend's gone back for it. And I say, think it will turn up all right?

Porter. Eef you register it, and your vrient is zere, you ged it – yes.

The H. M. Yes, but look here, don't you know? Oughtn't I to make a row – a fuss – about it, or something, eh?

Porter (moving off with subdued contempt). Oh, you can make a foss, yes, if you like – you ged nossing!

Culch. and Podb. (stopping him simultaneously). I say, I want my luggage brought down from No. – in time for the twelve o'clock – (To each other.) Hallo! are you off too?

Culch. (confused). Er – yes – thought I might as well be getting back.

Podb. Then I – I suppose it's all settled – with Miss T. – you know – eh?

Culch. Fortunately – yes. And – er —your engagement happily concluded?

Podb. Well, it's concluded, anyway. It's all off, you know. I – I wasn't artistic enough for her.

Culch. She has refused you? My dear Podbury, I'm really delighted to hear this – at least, that is —

Podb. Oh, don't mind me. I'm getting over it. But I must congratulate you on better luck.

Culch. On precisely similar luck. Miss Trotter and I – er – arrived at the conclusion last night that we were not formed to make each other's happiness.

Podb. Did you, by Jove? Porter, I say, never mind about that luggage. Do you happen to know if Mr. and Miss Trotter – the American gentleman and his daughter – are down yet?

Porter. Trodders? Led me see, yes, zey ged zeir preakfast early, and start two hours since for Murano and Torcello.

Podb. Torcello? Why, that's where Bob and Miss Prendergast talked of going to-day! Culchard, old fellow, I've changed my mind. Shan't leave to-day, after all. I shall just nip over and see what sort of place Torcello is.

Culch. Torcello – "the Mother of Venice!" it really seems a pity to go away without having seen it. Do you know, Podbury, I think I'll join you!

Podb. (not over cordially). Come along, then – only look sharp. Sure you don't mind? Miss Trotter will be there, you know!

Culch. Exactly; and so – I think you said – will the – er – Prendergasts. (To Porter.) Just get us a gondola and two rowers, will you, for Torcello. And tell them to row as fast as they can!