MR. AMY. I quite see that it isn’t a Gainsborough.
MR. MORLAND. After all, it’s certainly in the Gainsborough school.
(They clasp hands sheepishly, but the peace-maker helps the situation by showing a roguish face, and MR. AMY departs shaking a humorous fist at her).
MRS. MORLAND. I coughed so often, James; and you must have heard me clicking.
MR. MORLAND. I heard all right. Good old George! It’s a pity he has no flair. He might as well order his prints by wireless.
MRS. MORLAND. What is that?
MR. MORLAND. Wireless it’s to be called. There is an article about it in that paper. The fellow says that before many years have passed we shall be able to talk to ships on the ocean.
MRS. MORLAND (who has resumed her knitting). Nonsense, James.
MR. MORLAND. Of course it’s nonsense. And yet there is no denying, as he says, that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.
MRS. MORLAND (becoming grave). You and I know that to be true, James.