“I am glad of that,” said Cheriton. “But as you may have already discovered, Miss Perry has quite the feeling for art.”
“Yes,” said Jim, perhaps conventionally, “I am sure she has.”
“It is a very remarkable case of heredity. You see, my dear Lascelles, Gainsborough painted her great-grandmamma.”
“So I understand,” said Jim, with great solemnity.
“It is a great pleasure to me, my dear Lascelles, that Miss Perry’s taste in art is so sure. We go to the National Gallery together, hand-in-hand as it were, to admire the great Velasquez.”
“He is a sweet,” said Miss Perry.
“And, my dear Lascelles, we profoundly admire the great Rembrandt also.”
“He is a sweet too,” said Miss Perry.
“And, my dear Lascelles, together we share—Miss Perry and I—a slight distrust of the permanent merit of Joseph Wright of Derby. The fact is, Joseph Wright of Derby somehow fails to inspire our confidence. One can understand Joseph Wright of Sheffield perfectly well; or even perhaps—mind, I do not say positively—Joseph Wright of Nottingham; but I put it to you, Lascelles, can one accept Joseph Wright of Derby as belonging to all time?”
“I agree with you,” said Jim. “Yet was there not once an immortal born at Burton-on-Trent?”