[Breaking into a peal of delicious laughter, as the picture flashes again into view.] Richard! My heavens! Did you ever see such clothes? She must have got them out of the Ark!
[Richard surveys the portrait with frank disgust, and then lets his eyes rest on his little bride with patent satisfaction.
Richard.
Poor thing! I shall never complain again about women changing the fashions! What else was there for her grandchildren to do?
Lydia.
[Scornfully.] Grandchildren! Why, Richard, I’m sure Grandmamma never wore such a frock! [Pointing to the portrait.] She must have been a great-great, at least!
Richard.
[With decision.] And not on my side! Possibly yours, Lydia?
Lydia.
Not at all! [Puzzled.] But if she isn’t on yours, Richard——? [A fear which she vainly tries to repress suddenly thrilling her voice.] But she must be on yours! Else why is she here?