express them. "You feel sorry for them," he said, "just as you feel
sorry for an intelligent terrier. But these poor things can't even wag
their tails! Just let me know when you've had enough, Augusta."

Momma declared, with an accent of reproach, that she could never have
enough. I noticed, however, that we did not stay in the second room as
long as in the first one, and that our progress was steadily
accelerating. Presently the Senator asked us to sit down for a few
minutes while he should leave us.

"There's a picture here Bramley said I was to see without fail," he
explained. "It's called 'Mona Lisa,' and it's by an artist by the name
of Leonardo da Vinci. Bramley said it was a very fine painting, but I
don't remember just now whether he said it was what you might call a
picture for the family or not. I'll just go and ascertain," said the
Senator. "Judging from some of the specimens here, oil paintings in the
Middle Ages weren't intended to be chromo-lithographed."

In his absence momma and I discussed French cookery as far as we had
experienced it, in detail, with prodigious yawns for which we did not
even apologise. Poppa was gone a remarkably short time and came back
radiant. "I've found Mona," he exclaimed, "and--she's all right. Bramley
said it was the most remarkable portrait of a woman in the
world--looking at it, Bramley said, you become insensible to
everything--forget all about your past life and future hopes--and I
guess he's about right. Come and see it."

Momma arose without enthusiasm, and I thought I detected adverse
criticism in advance in her expression.