One morning, as Lionel was sitting in his library, he looked up at his father’s portrait, and wondered whether the latter would have approved of all that was going on in London. Perhaps, had he lived to see this social metamorphosis father and son would have understood each other at last. It filled Lionel’s heart with pity to think of the tragic life of past London. Next day he sent his father’s portrait to the In Memoriam Museum with a few others, amongst which was his mother’s portrait in Court dress. He could hardly view this likeness of a past glory without shuddering, while an aching pain gnawed at his heart as he recalled the whole bearing of the model who had sat for the picture. In a few days nearly all the Upper Ten had despatched their family pictures. The In Memoriam Museum was over-crowded with ancestral effigies; so much so that Lionel determined to speak to his architect for the purpose of building, in the suburbs, another Museum. This raised an uproar amongst the fastidious critics of the Vane and Sinclair type. “Where is art going?” “What, that glorious Gainsborough picture of your celebrated grandmother! Is that to be relegated to a country gallery?” said Vane to the Duchess of Southdown. “And that suggestive Lely of your great-great-grand-aunt! Is that to come down from your wall?” apostrophised Sinclair. “Fie, for shame! Where is your family pride?” indignantly echoed Lord Mowbray, who had sold his last ancestral likeness the year before to a picture-dealer.