_Culch._ (_with some heat_). Just as likely she had had enough of your
buffoonery!
_Podb._ (_with provoking good humour_). Come, old chap, don't get your
shirt out with me. Not my fault if she's found out you think yourself
too big a swell for her, is it?
_Culch._ (_hotly_). When did I say so--or think so? It's what you've
told her about me, and I must say I call it--
_Podb._ Don't talk bosh! Who said she was forward and bad form and all
the rest of it in the courtyard that first evening? She was close by,
and heard every word of it, I shouldn't wonder.
_Culch._ (_colouring_). It's not of vital importance if she did.
(_Whistling._) Few-fee-fee-foo-foodle-di-fee-di-fa-foo.
_Podb._ Not a bit--to her. Better step out if we mean to catch that
train. (_Humming._) La-di-loodle-lumpty-leedle-um-ti-loo!
[_They step out, PODBURY humming pleasantly and CULCHARD
whistling viciously, without further conversation, until they
arrive at Braine l'Alleud Station--and discover that they have
just missed their train._
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TWO EMPERORS; OR, THE CHRISTIAN CZAR AND THE
HEATHEN CHINEE.
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