to become bloodshot, and strained with strange horror, and deadly
vision." (Not one o'clock, _really_?--and we've to meet Papa outside
Florian's, for lunch at one-thirty! Dear me, we mustn't stay too long
over this room.)

_A Solemn Gentleman_ (_with a troublesome cough, who is also provided
with HARE, reading aloud to his wife_).... "Further enhanced
by--rook--rook--rook!--a largely-made--rook--ook!--farm-servant,
leaning on a--ork--ork--ork--ork--or--ook!--basket." Shall I--ork!--go
on?

_His Wife_. Yes, dear, do, _please_! It makes one notice things so
_much_ more!

[_The Solemn Gentleman goes on._

_Miss P._ (_as they reach the staircase_). Now just look at this
Titian, Mr. PODBURY! RUSKIN particularly mentions it. Do note the mean
and petty folds of the drapery, and compare them with those in the
TINTORETS in there.

_Podb._ (_obediently_). Yes, I will,--a--did you mean _now_--and will
it take me long, because--

[_Miss PRENDERGAST sweeps on scornfully._

_Podb._ (_following, with a desperate effort to be intelligent_). They
don't seem to have any Fiammingoes here.

_Miss P._ (_freezingly, over her shoulder_). Any _what_, Mr. PODBURY?