MRS. TEMPENNY.

Oh, you drive me wild with your improvident, Bohemian ways. There's
to-morrow.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY.

Sufficient for the day is the dinner thereof. Don't be greedy.

MRS. SYLVESTER (_looking round_).

You have sold most of your canvasses, I see, Mr. Tempenny.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

I thought she wouldn't find the gallery extensive, I must really do
something to-day, I must indeed! (_Aloud_.) Sold? Yes, yes. I am
starting on a fresh commission now. There's a little sketch up there
you may fancy;--a mere impression, but full of tenderness, I think, and
rapture.

MRS. SYLVESTER.

Rapture?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY.

It is the newest word by which we explain the inexplicable. "Rapture!"
It says everything, does it not?