"'Venus, dear, you ought to know What the proper caper is-- Even Eve, who wasn't slow, Robbed the neighbours' graperies! Even Mænads on the go, Fat Bacchantes in a row-- Even ladies in a show Wear _some_ threads of naperies! Through the heavens planet-strewn Where a shred of vapour is Quickly clothes herself the Moon! Get you to a modiste soon Where the tissue-paper is, Cut in fashions fit for June-- Wear 'em, dear, for draperies----'" "_Good_ heavens!" protested Quarren--"how long can you run on like that?" "Years and years, my dear fellow. It's in me--born in me! Can you beat it? Though I appear to be a peer appearance is a liar; cast for a part apart from caste, departing I climb higher toward the boards to bore the hordes and lord it, sock and buskin dispensing sweetness, art, and light as per our old friend Ruskin----" "Dankmere!" "Heaven-born?" "Stop!" "I remain put.... What number do I stick on this gentleman with streaky features?" "Eighteen. That's a Franz Hals." "Really?" "Yes; the records are all here, and the experts agree." His lordship got down nimbly from the step-ladder and came over to the desk: "Young sir," he said, "how much is that picture worth?" "All we can get for it. It's not a very good example." "Are you going to tell people that?" "If they ask me," said Quarren, smiling. "What price are you going to put on it?" "Ten thousand." "And do you think any art-smitten ass will pay that sum for a thing like that?" "I think so. If it were only a decent example I'd ask ten times that--and probably get it in the end." Dankmere inspected the picture more respectfully for a few moments, then pasted a label on an exquisite head by Greuze. "She's a peach," he said. "What price is going to waft her from my roof-tree?" "The experts say it's not a Greuze but a contemporary copy. And there's no pedigree, either." "Oh," said the Earl blankly, "is that your opinion, too?" "I haven't any yet. But there's no such picture by Greuze extant." "You _don't_ think it a copy?" "I'm inclined not to. Under that thick blackish-yellow varnish I believe I'll find the pearl and rose texture of old Greuze himself. In the meantime it's not for sale." "I see. And this battle-scene?" "Wouverman's--ruined by restoring. It's not worth much." "And this Virgin?" "Pure as the Virgin Herself--not a mark--flawless. It's by 'The Master of the Death of Mary.' Isn't it a beauty? Do you notice St. John holding the three cherries and the Christ-child caressing the goldfinch? Did you ever see such colour?" "It's--er--pretty," said his lordship.