“Hush!” said Peter, giving his sister a monitory pinch—“can’t you say your say under your breath? he’s within seven of you, and he has ears like the devil.”
“All them Jews has, and Jewesses too; they think one’s always talking of them, they’re so suspicious,” said Mrs. Coates. “I am told, moreover, that they’ve ways and means of hearing.”
To my great relief, she was interrupted by the auctioneer, and the sound of his hammer. The auction went on, and nothing but “Who bids more? going!—going!—who bids more?” was heard for a considerable time. Not being able to get near Mr. Montenero, and having failed in all my objects, I grew excessively tired, and was going away, leaving my mother to the care of Mowbray, but he stopped me. “Stay, stay,” said he, drawing me aside, behind two connoisseurs, who were babbling about a Titian, “you will have some diversion by and by. I have a picture to sell, and you must see how it will go off. There is a painting that I bought at a stall for nothing, upon a speculation that my mother, who is a judge, will pay dear for; and what do you think the picture is? Don’t look so stupid—it will interest you amazingly, and Mr. Montenero too, and ‘tis a pity your Jewess is not here to see it. Did you ever hear of a picture called the ‘Dentition of the Jew?’”
“Not I.”
“You’ll see, presently,” said Mowbray.
“But tell me now,” said I.
“Only the drawing the teeth of the Jew, by order of some one of our most merciful lords the kings—John, Richard, or Edward.”
“It will be a companion to the old family picture of the Jew and Sir Josseline,” continued Mowbray; “and this will make the vile daub, which I’ve had the luck to pick up, invaluable to my mother, and I trust very valuable to me.”
“There! Christie has it up! The dear rascal! hear him puff it!”
Lady de Brantefield put up her glass, but neither she nor I could distinguish a single figure in the picture, the light so glared upon it.