But his neighbour remained unmoved. "D'you mean to tell me," he said, "that man didn't know his wife when he saw her in the Coort?"
"What man?"
"That fellow what-you-may-call-him? The man that was married on the girl with the red dress on her!..."
"Bassanio?"
"Aye. D'you mean to tell me that fellow didn't know her again, and him only just after leaving her!..."
John tried to explain. "It's a play," he said. "He's not supposed to recognize her!..."
"Och, what's the good of supposing a thing that couldn't be!" said John's neighbour. "Any man with half an eye in his head could have seen who she was. I wish I'd gone to the 'Lhambra. This is a damn silly play, this!"
John was horrified. "Silly," he said. "It's by Shakespeare!"
"I don't care who it's by," was the reply. "It's damn silly to let on a man doesn't know his own wife when he sees her. I suppose that's portry!" he sneered.
John did not answer, and his neighbour went on. "Well, if it is portry ... God help it, that's all!"