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!