Caroline (after consulting it). It only says, "A Nocturne in Blue and Gold"—oh yes—(reading)—"a splash and splutter of brightness, on a black ground, to depict a display of fireworks."
Her Mother (gratified at her own intelligence). I thought it must be fireworks. He seems quite fond of fireworks, doesn't he?
First Facetious Philistine. Hullo, what have we got here? "Crepuscule, in Flesh-colour and Green." Very like one, too, daresay—when you know what it is.
Second F.P. As far as I can make it out, a Crepuscule's either a Harmony inside out, or a Symphony upside down—it don't much matter.
A Lady (who is laboriously trying to catch the right spirit). "The Blue Wave at Biarritz." Now I do admire that. And what I like even better than the Blue wave is this great Brown one breaking in the foreground—so exactly like water, isn't it, DICK?
Dick (not a Whistlerite). Y—yes—just. Only it's a rock, you know.
The Lady. But if that's the way he saw it, DICK!
Dick. Here's a thing! "St. Mark's, Venice." I'll trouble you! What's he done with the flagstaffs and the bronze horses and the pigeons? I never saw the place look like that.
The Lady. Because it didn't happen to be foggy while we were there, that's all.
First Pros. Person. Ah, there's old CARLYLE, you see! Dear me, what a very badly fitting coat—see how it bulges over his chest!