‘It would be a shame to cover it up again—would it not, Sir Giles?’ I remarked.
‘Indeed it would,’ he assented.
‘If it weren’t for that broken piece,’ said Clara. ‘That spoils it altogether. I should have the books up again as soon as possible.’
‘It does look shabby,’ said Charley. ‘I can’t say I should enjoy having anything so defective always before my eyes.’
‘We must have it taken down very carefully, Hobbes,’ said Sir Giles, turning to the carpenter.
‘Must it come down, Sir Giles?’ I interposed. ‘I think it would be risky. No one knows how long it has been there, and though it might hang where it is for a century yet, and look nothing the worse, it can’t be strong, and at best we could not get it down without some injury, while it is a great chance if it would fit any other place half as well.’
‘What do you propose, then?’
‘This is the largest room of the six, and the best lighted—with that lovely oriel window: I would venture to propose, Sir Giles, that it should be left clear of books and fitted up as a reading-room.’
‘But how would you deal with that frightful lacuna in the tapestry?’ said Charley.
‘Yes,’ said Sir Giles; ‘it won’t look handsome, I fear—do what you will.’