"Of course they are not? How can you say so?" said Daphne, defending the artist with more warmth than was pleasant to me. "We must see your picture, Mr. Vasari, when we come to Paris."
"I am afraid it is impossible for you to see it, Miss Leslie," he replied, "unless you are acquainted with the Baron de Argandarez, an old hidalgo of Aragon. He purchased it from me for a sum far surpassing my wildest expectations. It now adorns the walls of his ancestral castle, and I have no more to do with it."
"Oh, what a pity!" cried Daphne, in a tone of sincere regret. "I am disappointed. Why, it seems as if, after achieving a brilliant success, you are determined that your best friends shall not share in your triumph!"
"Yes," chimed in my uncle, "you are not very patriotic towards your adopted country, Angelo, in letting Spain carry off the great masterpiece. Now if you had let me see it, I might have exceeded the Baron's price."
"O papa, cannot you write to the Baron What's-his-name and offer him double the price he paid for it? Perhaps he might be induced to part with it."
"We'll see, little woman. It's your birthday in a month's time. How would you like it as a birthday gift?"
Daphne expressed her delight at the idea, and, turning to the artist, said:
"Haven't you any photograph or engraving of your picture to give us some notion of what it's like?"
Angelo shook his head.