“Yes, it does you great credit,” returned the nobleman; “great credit, I admit. But these spots, they are sad blemishes.”
“They were holes in the painting itself, which, in another year or two, would, in all probability, have become like a colander.”
“Ah, yes; I see. I suppose so.”
“But, with your permission, my lord, I will make the work perfect—so perfect, indeed, that no human eye will be able to detect the slightest fault or injury to it. Will your lordship trust me with the picture for a few days?”
“What, take it away? Oh, dear no. I should not like that.”
“I cannot very well do it here.”
“And why not, I pray?”
“Well, in the first place, I shall require assistance. These spots must be carefully gone over with colour, and—besides, several other things will have to be done to it.”
“All of which, I presume, can be done here? If not, it must remain as it is, until such time as I meet with a good restorer.”
“Then, as you wish it, I will endeavour to do it here,” returned Peace.