Twenty-five years have passed, and the scene is again that cosy room in the Morlands’ house, not much changed since we last saw it. If chintzes have faded, others as smiling have taken their place. The time is a crisp autumn afternoon just before twilight comes. The apple-tree, not so easy to renew as the chintzes, has become smaller, but there are a few gallant apples on it. The fire is burning, and round it sit Mr. and Mrs. Morland and Mr. Amy, the Morlands gone smaller like the apple-tree and Mr. Amy bulky, but all three on the whole still bearing their apples. Inwardly they have changed still less; hear them at it as of yore.
MR. MORLAND. What are you laughing over, Fanny?
MRS. MORLAND. It is this week’s Punch, so very amusing.
MR. AMY. Ah, Punch, it isn’t what it used to be.
MR. MORLAND. No, indeed.
MRS. MORLAND. I disagree. You two try if you can look at this picture without laughing.
(They are unable to stand the test.)
MR. MORLAND. I think I can say that I enjoy a joke as much as ever.
MRS. MORLAND. You light-hearted old man!
MR. MORLAND (humorously). Not so old, Fanny. Please to remember that I am two months younger than you.