_
_Miss P._ (_reading_).... "the fig-tree which, by a curious caprice,
has golden ribs to all its leaves."--Do you see the ribs, Mr. PODBURY.
_Podb._ (_feebly_). Y--yes. I _believe_ I do. Think they grew that
sort of fig-tree formerly, or is it--a--_allegorical_?
_Miss P._ (_receiving this query in crushing silence_). The ceiling
requires careful study. Look at that oblong panel in the centre--with
the fiery serpents, which RUSKIN finely compares to "winged lampreys."
You're not looking in the right way to see them, Mr. PODBURY!
_Podb._ (_faintly_). I--I did see them--_all_ of them, on my honour I
did! But it gives me such a crick in my neck!
_Miss P._ Surely TINTORET is worth a crick in the neck. Did you
observe "the intense delight in biting expressed in their eyes?"
_Bob._ (_frivolously_). _I_ did, 'PATIA--exactly the same look I
observed last night, in a mosquito's eye.
[_PODBURY has to use his handkerchief violently._
_The Stout Lady_. Now, ETHEL, we can just spend ten minutes on the
ceiling--and then we _must_ go. That's evidently JONAH in the small
oval. (_Referring to plan_.) Yes, I thought so,--it _is_ JONAH. RUSKIN
considers "the whale's tongue much too large, unless it is a kind of
crimson cushion for JONAH to kneel upon." Well, why _not_?
_Ethel_. A cushion, Mother? what, _inside_ the whale!
_The Stout Lady_.
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