"We'll try to find out," said Quarren, absently.
Dankmere puffed away on his cigar and consulted his list: "Reynolds (Sir Joshua). Portrait of Lady Dankmere," he read; "portrait of Sir Boggs Dankmere!—string 'em up aloft over that jolly little lady with no frock on!—Rembrandt (Van Rijn). Born near Leyden, July 15th, 1607—Oh, who cares as long as it is a Rembrandt!—Is it, Quarren? It isn't a copy, is it?"
"I hope not," said the young fellow absently.
"Egad! So do I." And to the workmen—"Philemon and Baucis by Rembrandt! Hang 'em up next to that Romney—over the Jan Steen ... Quarren?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think that St. Michael's Mount is a real Turner?"
"It looks like it. I can't express opinions off-hand, Dankmere."
"I can," said the little Earl; "and I say that if that is a Turner I can beat it myself working with tomato catsup, an underdone omelette, and a clothes-brush.... Hello! I like this picture. The list calls it a Watteau—'The Fête Champêtre.' What do you know about it, Quarren?"
"Nothing yet. It seems to be genuine enough."
"And this pretty girl by Boucher?"