An Advanced Nephew (who is endeavouring to convert a Philistine Uncle to the superiority of the Modern School). Now here, Uncle, look at this. Look at the way the figure looms out of the canvas, look at the learning in the simple sweep of the drapery, the drawing of it, and the masterly grace of the pose—you don't mean to tell me you don't call that a magnificent portrait?
His Uncle. Who's it of? That's what I want to know first.
Nephew (coldly). You will find it in the Catalogue, no doubt—No. 41.
Uncle (looking it up). "Arrangement in Black. La Dame au Brodequin Jaune."—the lady in a yellow something or other. Tchah! And not a word to tell you who she's supposed to be? If I pay a shilling for a Catalogue, I expect to find information in it. And let me ask you—where's the interest in looking at a portrait when you're not told who it's intended for?
[The Nephew, not being prepared to answer this difficult query, leads his relative gently up to a "Nocturne in Opal and Silver." The Uncle conveys his opinion of it by a loud and expressive snort.
First Prosaic Person (before No. 28). Valparaiso, is it? (Hopefully.) Well, come, I ought to recognise this—I've been there often enough. (Inspecting it closely.) Ha—um!
Second P.P. (with languid interest). Is it like?
First P.P. I could tell you better if he'd done it by daylight. I can't make out this in the front—looks to me like the top of a house, or something. Don't remember that.
Second P.P. I think it's meant for a jetty, landing-stage, or that sort of thing, and, when you look into it, there's something that seems intended for people—most extraordinary, isn't it?
The Domesticated Matron (who is searching for a picture with a subject to it). There, CAROLINE, it's evidently a harbour, you see, and ships, and they're letting off fireworks—probably for a regatta, Does it tell you what it is in the Catalogue?