If there was a faint irony in this speech, the mild look of the speaker and his softened accents made it seem of the very faintest, and so even the bluff Mr. Morgan himself appeared to acknowledge. “As you say so, Mr. Layton, I will consent to suppose there is such a man; not that the fact, in the slightest degree, touches my original proposition.” “Certainly not, Tom,” chimed in Mrs. Morgan, in a thick voice, like one drowning. “But if you doubt Guido, you may doubt Raphael, Titian, Michael Angelo,” burst in Mrs. Morris, with a holy terror in her voice. “Well, ma'am, I'm capable of all that--and worse.” What that “worse” was there is no saying, though possibly Mr. Mosely was trying to guess at it in the whisper he ventured to Mrs. Morris, and which made that lady smile incredulously. “I now, sir, rise to put the original motion,” said O'Shea, assuming that parliamentary tone which scandal pretended he displayed everywhere but in the House; “is it the opinion of this committee that we should all go and visit the Villa Caprini?” “Are we quite sure it is to be seen?” interposed Mr. Layton; “it may be occupied, and by persons who have no fancy to receive strangers.” “The observation strikes me as singularly narrow and illiberal, sir,” burst in Morgan, with warmth. “Are we of the nineteenth century to be told that any man--I don't care how he calls himself--has a vested right in the sight or inspection of objects devised and designed and completed centuries before he was born?” “Well put, Tom,--remarkably well put,” smothered out Mrs. Morgan. “Will you say, sir,” assumed he, thus cheered on to victory,--“will you say, sir, that if these objects--frescos, bas-reliefs, or whatever other name you give them--have the humanizing influence you assume for them,-- which, by the way, I am quite ready to dispute at another opportunity with you or that other young gentleman yonder, whose simpering sneer would seem to disparage my sentiment--” “If you mean me, sir,” took up Mr. Mosely, “I was n't so much as attending to one word you said.” “No, Tom, certainly not,” burst in Mrs. Morgan, answering with energy some sudden ejaculated purpose of her wrathy spouse. “I simply meant to say,” interposed Layton, mildly, “that such a visit as we propose might be objected to, or conceded in a way little agreeable to ourselves.” “A well-written note, a gracefully worded request, which nobody could do better than Mr. Alfred Layton--” began Mrs. Morris, when a dissenting gesture from that gentleman stopped her. “Or, perhaps,” continued she, “Mr. Gorman O'Shea would so far assist our project?” “My motion is to appear at the bar of the house,--I mean at the gate- lodge,--sending in our names, with a polite inquiry to know if we may see the place,” said Mr. O'Shea. “Well, stranger, I stand upon your platform,” chimed in Quackinboss; “I 'm in no manner of ways 'posted' up in your Old World doings, but I 'd say that you 've fixed the question all straight.”