Miss P. (standing opposite "The Flight into Egypt" reading). "One of the principal figures here is the Donkey." Where is Mr. Podbury? [To P., who reappears, humbly proffering a tin focussing-case.] Thanks, but you need not have troubled! "The Donkey ... um—um—never seen—um—um—any of the nobler animals so sublime as this quiet head of the domestic ass"—(here Bob digs Podbury in the ribs behind Miss P.'s back)—"chiefly owing to the grand motion in the nostril, and writhing in the ears." (A spasmodic choke from Podbury.) May I ask what you find so amusing?
Podb. (crimson). I—I beg your pardon—I don't know what I was laughing at exactly. (Aside to Bob.) Will you shut up, confound you!
A Stout Lady (close by, reading from Hare). "The whole symmetry of it depending on a narrow line of light." (Dubiously, to her Daughter.) I don't quite—oh yes, I do now—that's it—where my sunshade is—"the edge of a carpenter's square, which connects those unused tools" ... h'm—can you make out the "unused tools," Ethel? I can't.... But he says—"The Ruined House is the Jewish Dispensation." Now I should never have found that out for myself. (They pass to another canvas.) "Tintoret denies himself all aid from the features.... No time allowed for watching the expression."... (That reminds me—what is the time by your bracelet, darling?) "No blood, no stabbing, or cutting ... but an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro." (Ah, yes, indeed! Do you see it, love?—in the right-hand corner.) "So that our eyes "—(comfortably)—"seem to become blood-shot, 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 (struggling 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? Flamingoes?
Podb. (confidently, having noted down the name at the Accademia on his shirt-cuff). No, "Ignoto Fiammingo," don't you know. I like that chap's style—what I call thoroughly Venetian.