+THE PILGRIMS OF LOVE.+
SCENE--_The Piazza of St. Mark at night. The roof and part of the facade
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 cafes._ 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!
[Illustration: "A MEAN CUSS? ME! REALLY--!"]
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 roum, 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
roums? 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!