A Stout Lady, close by (reading from HARE).  “The whole symmetry of it depending on a narrow line of light.” (Dubiously, to her Daughter.) I don’t quite—­oh yes, I do now—­that’s it—­where my sunshade is—­“the edge of a carpenter’s square, which connects those unused tools” ... h’m—­can you make out the “unused tools,” ETHEL? I can’t....  But he says—­“The Ruined House is the Jewish Dispensation.”  Now I should never have found that out for myself. (They pass to another canvas.) “TINTORET denies himself all aid from the features....  No time allowed for watching the expression” ...  (That reminds me—­what is the time by your bracelet, darling?) “No blood, no stabbing, or cutting ... but an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro.” (Ah, yes, indeed!  Do you see it, love?—­in the right-hand corner?) “So that our eyes”—­(comfortably)—­“seem to become bloodshot, and strained with strange horror, and deadly vision.” (Not one o’clock, really?—­and we’ve to meet Papa outside Florian’s, for lunch at one-thirty!  Dear me, we mustn’t stay too long over this room.)

A Solemn Gentleman (with a troublesome cough, who is also provided with HARE, reading aloud to his wife)....  “Further enhanced by—­rook—­rook—­rook!—­a largely-made—­rook—­ook!—­farm-servant, leaning on a—­ork—­ork—­ork—­ork—­or—­ook!—­basket.”  Shall I—­ork!—­go on?

His Wife.  Yes, dear, do, please!  It makes one notice things so much more!

    [The Solemn Gentleman goes on.

Miss P. (as they reach the staircase).  Now just look at this Titian, Mr. PODBURY!  RUSKIN particularly mentions it.  Do note the mean and petty folds of the drapery, and compare them with those in the TINTORETS in there.

Podb. (obediently).  Yes, I will,—­a—­did you mean now—­and will it take me long, because—­

    [Miss PRENDERGAST sweeps on scornfully.

Podb. (following, with a desperate effort to be intelligent).  They don’t seem to have any Fiammingoes here.

Miss P. (freezingly, over her shoulder).  Any what, Mr. PODBURY?  Flamingoes?

Podb. (confidently, having noted down the name at the Accademia on his shirt-cuff).  No, “Ignoto Fiammingo,” don’t you know.  I like that chap’s style—­what I call thoroughly Venetian.

    [Well-informed persons in front overhear and smile.

Miss P. (annoyed).  That is rather strange—­because “Ignoto Fiammingo” happens to be merely the Italian for “an unknown Fleming,” Mr. PODBURY. [Collapse of PODBURY.

Bob. (aside to PODBURY).  You great owl, you came a cropper that time! [He and PODBURY indulge in a subdued bear-fight up the stairs, after which they enter the Upper Hall in a state of preternatural solemnity.