"No, not accomplished yet, Wolff. I have only got through a part of it. I have caught my white elephant, but what am I to do with him? I know too well that my natural heir looks upon the contents of these galleries but as so many hundred thousand pounds' worth of hard cash. He is an honest man, and makes no secret of it." "But his son, my lord, the young Mr. Lucius?" "Ah! he is a mystery, Wolff, that I have failed to fathom. We have known him, my friend, since he was a little child. I can't tell why, Wolff, I have never trusted him. Perhaps the aged are over-suspicious. I confess to you that if I thought he loved art for art's sake, he should have my pictures, as he will ultimately have my title and what goes with it." "You can tie them up, my lord." "Yes, I know I can tie them up, but then the pictures I've loved would suffer. Who will care for them, Wolff, when you and I are gone?" "You have sometimes talked, my lord, of giving them _en bloc_ to the nation." "Yes, Wolff, I did once think of that; but since that time I have seen that real Chamber of Horrors, the National Portrait Gallery. I should not like to send her there," he said, as he pointed to the portrait of wicked Bab Chudleigh, who simpered and smiled at him from the wall. "No, Wolff, I shouldn't like my pictures to be hawked about as loans to one East End or provincial exhibition after another, to be sneered at by crowds of unappreciating yokels. It's a very heavy responsibility, Wolff." At this moment Reginald Haggard entered the gallery. "I hear, my lord," he said, as he shook hands with the old nobleman, "that you have hung the last long-sought treasure this morning. Is it really so?" The old lord nodded. "I suppose you will begin the weeding process now?" continued Haggard. The old man drew himself up a little stiffly. "If you can indicate to me anything that is unworthy, you will confer an obligation; but I think you'll find it difficult. In my opinion, Haggard," he continued, "and in the opinion of others far better able to judge than I am, there is nothing here requiring weeding out." Haggard slightly flushed. "I can only plead my ignorance," he said; "it is what most connoisseurs do." "Yes, there you're quite right; but most men begin collecting as the amusement of their old age. I began it sixty years ago, and I'm afraid my long life's labour is over, and that, useless old man that I am, I've lived too long already." "You look upon things in a melancholy light, my lord." "No man is pleased when he finds his occupation gone; and perhaps it's a little sad to me to find that you care for none of these things." "I know you wouldn't wish me to affect an interest I do not feel," said Haggard with an ingenuous smile. "No, there you're right. For we should find him out, shouldn't we, Wolff?" The doctor of philosophy laughed. "It is our business to detect shams," he said. "Yes, I think we should have found you out."