Denham.
My brush did it somehow.
Vane.
Ah! this is exquisite—or would be if you could paint. Why, why not learn the technique of your art, and make these notes of a mood, a moment, so as to give real delight?
Denham.
Upon my word, Vane, you are right. That sketch is worth a wilderness of Brynhilds. But look here! (Crosses to picture. He opens a pocket knife, and makes a long cut across the figure of Brynhild.) There goes a year's work.
Fitzgerald.
(rising) By Jove!
Vane.
My dear fellow, I congratulate you. The year's work is not thrown away—now. (Re-enter Mrs. Denham.)