"I gazed rapturously into his face and urged him onward. Things went from bad to worse, but it was really 'The Lowing Herd' that put the lid on it. A more lamentable company of cows you could hardly imagine. Even Papa was baffled for the moment; but after checking the number on the picture with the number on his cuff he pulled himself together.
"'Wonderful grouping,' he said; 'eminently Sargentesque;' and his voice seemed to challenge all within earshot to name another artist who could have produced the work.
"'Well, now,' he concluded, 'I think that is the last of them, and the best thing we can do is to go home. It would be a pity to spoil the afternoon by looking at any of the lesser lights.'
"I hesitated. 'Don't you think,' I suggested, 'it would be nice just to look at the Sargents before we go?'
"For some moments Papa was speechless.
"'The Sargents!' he exclaimed at length. 'Well, of all the——Here I devote a solid half-hour to teaching you something about Art and your mind is woolgathering the whole time. What on earth were you thinking about?'
"'I was thinking about the years that are gone,' I said.
"'The years that are gone?'
"'Yes, and I'm afraid it's entirely my fault, because I brought it.'
"Papa gasped.