"Why?"
"Well, he asked me if I knew more about anything than I did about pictures. I didn't catch his drift for about an hour—but then it came to me, and I got up out of my chair and walked over and punched his head. I don't think he'll come back, do you?"
"No, I don't. What else have you been doing?" said Quarren angrily.
"Nothing. One picture—the Raeburn portrait—has a bad hole in it."
"How did it happen?"
"Rather extraordinary thing, that! I was giving a most respectable card party—some ladies and gentlemen of sorts—from the Winter Garden I believe—and one of the ladies inadvertently shyed a glass at another lady——"
"For Heaven's sake, Dankmere——"
"Quite right old chap—my fault entirely—I won't do it again. But, do you know, the gallery already has become a most popular resort. People are coming and going all day—a lot of dealers among them I suspect—and there have been a number of theatrical people who want to hire pictures for certain productions to be staged next winter——"
"We don't do that sort of thing!"
"That's what I thought; but there was one very fetching girl who opens in 'Ancestors' next October——"