MR. MORLAND. I say Kirkstall.
MRS. MORLAND (with her needles). James!
MR. MORLAND. Well, you may be right, the place doesn’t matter.
MR. AMY. There is an engraving of Rivaulx in that Copperplate Magazine we were looking at. (He turns up the page.) I have got it, Rivaulx. (He brightens.) Why, this is funny. It is an engraving of that very picture. Hello, hello, hello. (Examining it through his private glass.) And it is signed E. Dayes.
(MR. MORLAND holds the sketch so close to him that it brushes his eyelashes.)
I wouldn’t eat it, James. So it is by Dayes, the drawing-master, after all. I am sorry you have had this disappointment.
(MRS. MORLAND taps warningly, but her husband is now possessed.)
MR. MORLAND. You sixty-six, Mr. Amy, you sixty-six!
MR. AMY. James, this is very painful. Your chagrin I can well understand, but surely your sense of manhood—I regret that I have out-stayed my welcome. I bid you good afternoon. Thank you, Mrs. Morland, for your unvarying hospitality.
MRS. MORLAND. I shall see you into your coat, George.