[RICHARD, _taking a turn about the room, during the last speech, has now brought up before the full-length portrait of_ MRS. MCCORMORANT _that hangs upon the wall. Her pink satin and the diamond pendant about her substantial neck shine bright in the electric lamp beneath the portrait._ RICHARD. Well, speaking of beauty---- [_Confronted by the sight of the lamp, he touches the bulb gingerly._] Good gracious! Glass all round the lamp! How on earth would the smoke get out? And a string--oh, heavens----! [_As he puts out the light._] What have I done? LYDIA. [_Helplessly, at his side._] Oh, Richard----! RICHARD. [_Accidentally pulling the light on again._] How very strange! LYDIA. [_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? RICHARD. I tell you she _isn’t_, Lydia! [_Then, as_ MARTIN _softly emerges from the shadows where he has been watching them_.] Look! There he is again! Who can it be? LYDIA. [_Tugging at his arm, fascinated by the portrait._] Oh, Richard, dear Richard, I--I don’t like to look at her! It frightens me! MARTIN. [_Approaching the door, and looking within._] I beg pardon, sir, but did you call? RICHARD. [_Looking from_ MARTIN _to_ LYDIA.] Call? No! MARTIN. [_Regarding_ LYDIA _fixedly_.] Nor you, Madam? LYDIA. [_Beckoning_ MARTIN _to her with sudden decision_.] Yes! Do you know who that lady was? MARTIN. Why, that, Madam, that is Mrs. McCormorant! RICHARD. “Is”! And what a name! “Mc” what? We never had such a name in our family! LYDIA.