"That depends entirely on the amount of affection you feel for the original." "H'm--does it? He's a dear old thing, and I'm very fond of him, but--what do you think of him?--from an artistic point of view?" She stood with her body curved a little backwards, holding the Dean up high in a good light. Her attitude was so lovely that it was impossible to disapprove of her. Ted's reason tottered on its throne, and he laughed, which was perhaps the best thing he could have done. "He is not, strictly speaking, handsome." "No," said Audrey; "I'm afraid he'll have to go." She knelt down beside the portrait of a lady. It was evidently the work of an inferior artist, but his most malignant efforts had failed to disguise the beauty of the face. It bore a strong resemblance to Audrey, but it was the face of an older woman, grave, intelligent, and refined by suffering. "I've been obliged to take this down," she said, as if apologising more to herself than Ted, "because I want to hang my large photo of the Sistine Madonna in its place." "What is it?" "It's--my mother's portrait. She died when I was a very little girl, and I hardly ever saw her, you know. I'm not a bit like her." He stood silent, watching her intently as she spoke. "Family portraits," she continued, "may be interesting, but they are not decorative. Unless, of course," she added, hastily, being at a loss to account for the peculiar expression of Ted's face, "they're very old ones--Lelys and Sir Joshua Reynoldses." "That face does not look old, certainly." "No. She died young." She had not meant to say that; a little shiver went through her as the words passed her lips, and she felt a desire to change the subject. But the portrait of the late Mrs. Craven was turned to the wall along with the Dean. "Hullo!" exclaimed Ted, taking up a photo in a glass frame, hand-painted, "here's old Hardy! What on earth is he doing here?" Audrey blushed, but answered with unruffled calm. "Vincent? Oh, he's a family portrait too. He's my cousin--first cousin, you know." "What are you going to do with _him_?" "I--I hardly know." She took the photo out of his hands and examined it carefully back and front. Then she looked at Ted. "What _shall_ I do with him? Is he to go too?" "Well, I suppose he ought to. He's all very well in his own line, but--from an artistic point of view--he's not exactly--decorative." "Poor old Vincent! No, he's not." And Vincent was turned face downward among the ruins of the cosy corner, and Audrey and Ted rested from their labours.