_The scene is the Loggia of the Villa Colobiano, a beautiful old Florentine villa on the road to Fiesole, with a view of Florence in the distance. It is an artistic-looking place, with elegant pillars supporting a painted ceiling, coloured marble flooring, and a handsome balustrade and steps leading to the road and garden below, while noticeable on the wall of the villa, between the two entrance windows, is a glass case protecting the remnants of an old, half-obliterated fresco._ _WEAVER is gazing down the road through a pair of field-glasses, and PRISCILLA is bringing in the tea things, which she proceeds to arrange on a little table._ WEAVER. Pris. PRISCILLA. Hush! [_Pointing towards the inner room._] Mr. Wilfrid has gone right off, tired out with his travelling. WEAVER. I’m very sorry, but what am I to do? Here’s a carriage, with some ladies, coming up the road; of course they’ll pull up here to look at our blessed cartoon. PRISCILLA. Well, whatever folks can see in them few smears and scratches to come botherin’ us about, passes my belief. WEAVER. _You_ don’t see nothing in it, of course--a country-bred girl. But there’s a real bit of Michael Angelo under that glass. When he was stayin’ in this ’ouse some time back he amused himself by drawing that with a piece of black chalk. PRISCILLA. Why don’t he send and fetch it away? WEAVER. It’s on the wall of the villa--how can he fetch it? And then again, he’s dead. [_A bell rings._] I said so. PRISCILLA. Bother it! It’s sp’iled my dear little missy’s honeymoon. Jest as master is stroking the back of her little ’and, or dear missy is a’ goin’ to droop her head on master’s shoulder, in comes Weaver with “Somebody to look at the wall!” Lovin’ master as she do, why don’t she wipe it off and a’ done with it! [_MRS. STONEHAY’S voice is heard within the house._] MRS. STONEHAY. There is a step there, Irene--I have already struck my foot. PRISCILLA. Hush! Don’t show it ’em, Weaver. WEAVER. I must. The villa was let to us on condition that all visitors was allowed to see the cartoon. This way, please. [_He shows in MRS. STONEHAY, a pompous-looking woman with an arrogant and artificial manner, and her daughter IRENE, a handsome girl of about twenty, cold in speech and bearing._] MRS. STONEHAY. I hope we have not toiled up two flights of stairs for nothing. What is there to be seen here? PRISCILLA. [_Pointing to WILFRID._] Please, ma’am, the young gentleman has just travelled right through from England, and has fallen asleep. MRS. STONEHAY. Oh, indeed. This is surely not _all_. WEAVER. [_Opening the glass case._] Here is the cartoon, ma’am. MRS. STONEHAY. Cartoon--where? WEAVER. A allegorical design, by Michael Angelo, ma’am; done when he was stayin’ in this very ’ouse. MRS. STONEHAY. Quite interesting! [_Pedantically_] Michael Angelo. WEAVER. Michael Angelo. MRS. STONEHAY.